Dragon Slayer
by Ridley C. James
Summary: Pre-series. Brotherhood AU. "Fairy tales are more than true not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten."-Neil Gaiman
1. Chapter 1

Dragon Slayer

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: If you read my last multi-chapter story, you know that I have been poking at the time line just a little before the series started, when Sam was at school and Dean started hunting more on his own as John distanced himself, before disappearing all together on his quest for the yellow-eyed demon. This is my attempts to insert The Brotherhood AU into that timeline and to explain the question Ti and I always get asked- WHY oh, WHY haven't you written Caleb into the first season episodes of SN? This is our answer.

_**RCJ**_

"_**Fairy tales are more than true not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten."-Neil Gaiman**_

The little valley spread below them like a patched white blanket, green grass jutting through the holes of missing snow. Caleb Reaves was thankful for the sun, although setting quickly; it had no doubt helped greatly in the melting process, which made their unplanned afternoon trek into the forest easier. The surprise December snowfall was heavier here in the mountains of North Carolina than it had been in Kentucky. They were ill prepared for the cold. Winter seemed to have barely passed through the bluegrass state, her frosty coattails just grazing the hills and valleys before choosing to settle herself in amidst the Blue Ridge peaks where their latest quarry had led them.

Lying on the wet ground so he could get a better look at the hunting cabin nestled in the pines wasn't helping matters or lifting his mood. So when his partner kicked his boot for the third time, interrupting his intense study of movement he'd just caught to the side of the structure they were surveying, he didn't hold back on the growl or the vulgarity.

"Damn it, Deuce. I'm trying to assess the situation here."

"I think we have another situation that requires your attention."

"For the last time, Man, those were not bear tracks." Caleb kept his eyes on the cabin, reaching out once more with his abilities as he caught a shadow in the window. The 'casting of the net' as he liked to think of his psychic search yielded nothing yet again, which was disconcerting. Being 'gifted' most days was a pain in the ass. Death visions, precognition as his father liked to spin it, was only the tip of the iceberg. In Caleb's case being psychic often meant exerting vast amounts of energy to block out the mental presence of those around him lest he be drowned in the waves of their innermost thoughts. Anguish, despair, even joy were overwhelming, and ultimately dangerous if it was left to batter at the barriers of one's mind. Sanity could be eroded like the precious coastline. But as annoying it could be, the absence of any swirling consciousnesses below was even more disturbing, like the eerie quiet of a forest when all the familiar background noise is missing. He could see the cabin, knew there were men inside but his trusted senses told another story, spoke more to mirage than reality.

He received another kick, followed by a clearing of throat. "Damien. Dude."

"You really want us to die of exposure out here, don't you?" Caleb dropped the binoculars with a sigh. It seemed his best friend, Dean Winchester, did not care that they were racing against time. Soon it would be dark and even colder, making their trek back down to the jeep arduous at best, treacherous if their typical luck prevailed. He rolled over, intent to take his frustration out on the easiest target only to have all thoughts of hypothermia dashed by another voice. Adrenaline rushed in to take its place.

"I think exposure of a different kind is your most pressing problem, Pup."

Two men in heavy winter camouflage coats and ski masks stood on either side of Dean, one slightly shorter than the other had a gun pointed at Dean's side.

Dean gave Caleb a devil may care grin, shrugged his shoulders. "Looks like you were right about there being no bears in the woods, but I still managed to find some big hairy unwanted visitors."

"Why doesn't that surprise me, Deuce? Just proves my theory that you could catch an STD in a convent." Caleb forced a relaxed smile of his own as if his best friend scaring up trouble in the form of two heavily armed mercenaries from his walk in the woods was an everyday occurrence. "I wish I'd had a heads up about the company for dinner though, we'd have brought more graham crackers and chocolate. I know how you hate to share your S'mores."

The strangers exchanged looks, the small talk giving Caleb a little more time to assess the situation. It didn't take long to realize his abilities would be of no help because like the cabin below the two men were in a psychic free zone. To his senses they were illusury, meaning that the heavy weaponry and Kevlar they were wearing wasn't their only protection. Some kind of spell work was involved. What was worse, Dean was wedged between them, making any telepathic communication with him also impossible. That left the traditional route. Caleb's gun was tucked in the side holster under his jacket, which was zipped against the elements. His backup around his ankle or the knife in his boot would be the easier to reach.

"Stop your yammering and show me your hands, son." The man who'd spoke before pointed his assault rifle at Caleb. "We wouldn't want you doing anything stupid or hotheaded that might get somebody hurt."

"You might want to define stupid because Damien sometimes has a loose interpretation."

"Obviously, considering he's trespassed onto private property, sticking his nose into an unknown situation." The guy holding Dean shook his head. "I'm not impressed with his intelligence so far."

Caleb sat up, bringing his hands in front of him with a smirk. He'd quickly run a couple scenarios of what the 'situation' might be. He and Dean were looking for John. When the cabin seemed like The Knight's destination, they'd considered anything from another secretive one man hunt to a clandestine meet up with militia contacts or some old military buddies, a possibility supported by the appearance of the two goons, but something didn't ring right, especially with the supernatural wards, and the realization that the two men for all their swagger didn't have the same feel as John's Marine brothers.

"Then there's the fact he's unwittingly delivered not only The Scholar's son into potentially enemy hands, but The Knight's as well. A fact The Guardian will not be likely to dismiss."

"Hunters," Dean said the word before Caleb could manage it. "You're fucking hunters?"

Dean pulled away from the man holding him just as the guy gave him a hard shove. "Lucky for you, Winchester we are that."

"Lucky for you you're holding a gun right now." Caleb growled, getting to his feet. "Watch who you're shoving."

"Now you're concerned about his safety." The guy pulled off his hood, revealing a mass of silver blond hair and a rugged, deeply lined face Caleb didn't recognize. The silver ring he raised in Caleb's direction was undeniable. "I could have shot the boy for breeching my secure sector."

"What have I told you about breeching stranger's sectors, Deuce?" Caleb shared a look with the younger hunter. This was not what they were expecting. John had seemed to be distancing himself from The Brotherhood, not entertaining hunters they did not know.

"Wear protection?" Dean played along, but Caleb could sense his confusion. "But I swear I didn't go near this guy's sector. The Patrick Swayze look-a-like is definitely not my type. He was the one getting fresh."

"This isn't a joking matter. You should know better than this, Reaves."

"Don't go poking a tiger, Sullivan. This one's likely to take off a hand if you're not careful."

Caleb might not have known the first man, but he silently berated himself for not recognizing the other hunter's voice or immense stature. Buzz Adams wasn't a man easily matched in size or boisterousness. When he tugged off his face mask, his trademark long red braid fell across his shoulders and he gave Caleb a wink as he picked up the radio clipped to his belt. "I've learned it's better to let the big wranglers handle him."

Caleb exchanged another glance with Dean as Adams spoke into the handheld. "Junkyard Dog, this is Ginger. You ain't going to believe what varmints me and Hollywood ran across up here on the ridge. We're bringing them in so you better make sure The Rifleman has a couple of rounds of Merlin's brew before we roll into camp."

"_Copy that, Ginger. I'll alert the Doc to be on standby." _

"Was that Bobby?" Dean asked.

Caleb winced, his scenarios growing dimmer. "Sounded like Sanford to me."

"Why don't we have cool trucker nicknames, _Hollywood_?" Dean smirked at Sullivan.

"Oh you have them, Winchester. I just hate to add further embarrassment to you and _Lancelot's_ predicament."

Caleb made a move to step forward but Buzz's meaty hand stopped him. He gestured to the trail behind them. "How about we all head down before it starts getting dark. We don't want to get caught out with bad weather blowing in."

Dark clouds were quickly filling in the bright blue of the winter sky, but Caleb had a hunch the real storm was waiting for them in the cabin. They had stepped into something big and Caleb wasn't about to walk one step further into yet another blind situation, especially with Dean in tow. "I'm not going anywhere until someone tells us what the hell is going on. Buzz?"

"It's a need to know situation," Sullivan spoke up, motioning to the trail with his gun. "Buzz gave you an order, kid. I think you should show you have some sense and follow it."

"An order?" Dean snorted. "Who the hell put you or the Jolly Red Giant in charge?"

"That would be James Murphy," Sullivan pointed his gun at Dean. "This is a code yellow situation, and as the commanding officer of the Guardian's security detail, I have authority to use any force I deem necessary to assure his safety."

"Point that gun at The Knight's son again and it's not going to be Jim's safety that is foremost on your mind." Caleb stepped in front of Dean. "When it comes to _his_ safety I have authority to rip your fucking heart out and shove it down your throat. Are we clear?"

"Security detail?" Dean stepped shoulder to shoulder to Caleb. "Since when does Pastor Jim have a security detail? I thought that was The Knight's job."

"It is." Caleb looked from Sullivan to Dean, wandering what could have warranted such precaution. "But in some situations, times when there is a specific threat to The Guardian or his family, The Knight can call in a special team of hunters, men trained to act as a Royal Guard of sorts."

"You're telling me Dad has a regiment of musketeers at his beck and call?" Dean shook his head at his friend. "Dude, I bet you love that."

"I don't answer to The Knight," Sullivan was quick to interject. "I most certainly do not take orders from his wet behind the ears understudy. My team and I report directly to The Guardian. I don't answer to anyone else during a code yellow."

"They're more like reservists, think secret service types rather than musketeers." Buzz told Dean with a roll of his eyes. "They're not called into active duty very often so when they are they can be a little abrasive and cocky. They usually protect former Triad members, or shadow The Guardian's family, but seeing as how old Jim Murphy is a widower, and our only living former Triad member is on permanent vacation in Hawaii, well you can see how they might be a tad over eager and all too ready to flex their muscle. At the core, they're still just hunters, bound by the same silver band that connects us all."

"You understand protocol, Adams. In this situation I'm in charge." Sullivan was dogmatic.

"Yeah, yeah, code yellow. Yada, yada, yada." Buzz waved a hand in the air. "I understand you're wasting precious time having a pissing contest with two of the pissiest hunters in our ranks. Do you really want to go through all the paper work of explaining why you were forced to shoot the sons of The Scholar and The Knight in self-defense?"

"I don't care who they are! The moment they broke into my secured area they became potential enemies of The Guardian. I have sworn to eliminate any threat to The Guardian and The Brotherhood."

"We're no threat to Pastor Jim. He's family." Dean growled.

"You often spy on family, Winchester?"

"Maybe we were bird watching," Dean took a step closer and Caleb sighed that his stubborn friend was heedless of the fact Sullivan still had his weapon. Hunter or not, Caleb didn't trust the high strung idiot not to be trigger happy. "The last time I checked that wasn't a crime, let along an act of treason."

"You expect me to believe it's a coincidence you two showing up at the very safe house where The Guardian is being kept. Maybe you two are compromised."

"Jim's here?" Caleb turned his questioning gaze to Buzz, ignoring Sullivan's accusation for the time being. He and Dean had talked to the pastor a few days before when Jim called to make plans for them to come to Kentucky in a couple of weeks for Christmas. He'd also mentioned a hunt in Florida that he'd wanted them to look into before then. At the time the request hadn't seemed odd, but in light of the current happenings Caleb quickly realized they had been manipulated. A simple search for John was getting more convoluted by the second.

"As if you didn't know," Sullivan sneered.

"We didn't come here for Jim."

"Then why did you come? My intel puts you both halfway to Clearwater by now."

"We followed Bobby here," Caleb confessed. It wasn't completely a lie. Bobby had led them as far as the North Carolina border where a call to the Geek Squad had yielded a list of potential places he might have been headed. From there it had been deductive reasoning, good old fashioned detective work and a little bit of luck.

"He's not going to be happy about that." Buzz rubbed his beard.

"So much for discretion and secrecy," Sullivan glared at Buzz. "I'm surprised Singer didn't leave you a trail of breadcrumbs."

"I had a vision." Caleb didn't want to implicate Bobby unfairly. It had been more nightmare than full on vision, but it had prompted them to resume their search for John, who'd been off the radar for almost three weeks. Bobby had merely been a means to an end as he seemed the only one in the loop about what The Knight had been up to currently.

"About The Guardian?" Sullivan's interest was piqued.

"No, I mean, I'm not sure. It wasn't exactly specific, more bad feeling than detailed plot." Caleb didn't like expounding about his talents with those closest to him, let alone a hunter he didn't know. It was one thing to understand those in their ranks were aware of him, had their suspicions to what he was, a completely different thing to confirm their suspicions.

"But detailed enough to get you here?"

"We used more traditional means to find our way here," Dean supplied, taking another step closer to Sullivan in challenge. "We happen to be very good at what we do."

"So you admit you disobeyed a direct order from The Guardian and followed him here?"

"I told you I had a vision." Caleb gritted his teeth, reaching out and putting an arm in front of Dean. "I felt the risk to a fellow hunter outweighed the need to followup a gig in Florida."

"And we came here for my dad," Dean supplied, though Caleb wished he'd kept that bit of information to himself. "Not Jim."

"John is going to be even less happy to hear about that than Bobby, Pup." Buzz sighed, running a hand over his red braid. "You're in deep shit."

"At this moment, I could give a hairy rat's ass about making The Knight happy." Caleb glared at the older hunter. His concern for his mentor had quickly been overshadowed by the fact he and Dean had not only been kept in the dark by The Triad, but were currently being treated like enemies of the state. "He can stay huddled in his little hideout for all I care. Deuce and I will head on to Florida just like Jim asked."

A hand snaked out and grabbed Caleb's jacket as he turned to start back down the trail that led to the Impala. Sullivan really didn't understand who he was dealing with. If Dean hadn't been caught between them, Caleb would have decked the pompous ass then and there. "It's too late for that now. You and your buddy aren't going anywhere, Reaves."

"You and what army is going to stop me?"

"He's right, Caleb." Buzz shook his head. "You and Dean are going to have to come with us."

"You said it yourself; no one down there is going to be too happy to see us." Caleb had already done the math. Technically they had defied an order from The Guardian, or at least _he_ had as hunter in charge. John was obviously well and good. Dean could rest easy. They both could rest easy in Florida-safely out of The Knight's reach. Caleb would deal with any fallout from The Guardian at a later date.

"You probably should have thought of that before you poked your nose in John's business, Kid."

"He told you he had a vision, Grizzly Adams."Dean poked a finger in Buzz's direction. "We weren't playing the Hardy Boys for kicks."

"But now that we know all is well, we'll get out of your way, let you big boys handle whatever it is that's going on." Caleb met Buzz's gaze. "You can just tell 'Junkyard Dog' that you rustled up some rabbits. He'll never be the wiser."

"You know too much now," Sullivan said. "We can't allow you to leave. It's too great of a risk."

"If you're saying you think we'd ever give up Jim..." Dean started forward again.

"He's saying you might not have a choice." Buzz's voice hardened. "Why the hell do you think we're out here in the middle of nowhere with a psychic free perimeter the likes of Fort Knox?" He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out two mojo bags. "In fact, you both should put these on. You'll stand out like Rudolph's red blinking nose in a blizzard."

"Especially the telepath," Sullivan added and Caleb did not miss the disdain in his tone.

"I'm not a telepath," Caleb hated that description, cared for Sullivan's prejudice attitude even less. He could technically communicate telepathically, but that didn't define who he was or what he could do. Reluctantly, Caleb took the necklace, watching Dean slip his on without fuss.

"You know what he means, Caleb." Buzz nodded to the bag. "Your abilities could draw unwanted attention."

Caleb looked at the pouch, thinking how apt Buzz's reference to Santa's most famous reindeer was. Like the black cap Rudolph's dad had forced him to wear over his embarrassing blinking nose, a psychic ward was to say the least uncomfortable and stifling for someone who was actually psychic.

"I can keep my blocks just fine." Caleb tried to give the bag back.

Buzz shook his head. "Not against this. Put it on."

"What exactly are we up against?" Dean asked as Caleb slipped the cord over his neck with a grimace. The instant the bag rested against his chest, a thick numbness ran through his body. Like a dense fog can blind, the spell work contained in the bag snuffed out the vibrant connections Caleb counted on. He found it necessary to keep his eyes on Dean, resisting the sudden desire to reach out and establish a physical connection to keep him from falling head first into the psychic black hole.

Buzz didn't answer Dean. Instead he nodded towards the trail. "That's a story best left to The Guardian."

Sullivan took the lead without so much as another word, Buzz bringing up the rear. Caleb alternately concentrated on his footfalls and ran lame defenses in his head as they trekked down the mountainside into the snowy valley below.

"You alright over there, Rudolph?" Dean kept his voice low, his eyes straight ahead.

Caleb couldn't psychically sense his friend's concern, but he heard it in his tone, despite the attempt at humor. He forced a cocky grin. "Just thinking how fun it's going to be to join in all the reindeer games."

Dean snorted. "Until Santa gets a hold of us."

Caleb wasn't sure if Dean was relegating Jim to the Jolly old elf or John. If they were going by the old Rudolph cartoon, John was definitely more along the lines of Donner, the overcritical dad. In fact, Caleb had a new appreciation for sailing away on an iceberg in the middle of a snowstorm. "Leave Santa to me Hermey."

"Do I look like a dentist to you?" Dean nudged his elbow. "Just call me Fireball."

"Clarice is more like it."

Dean rolled his eyes, kept moving. After a few moments he added. "Remember how Sammy loved that movie? He was terrified of the Abominable Snow Monster."

"I remember he wasn't the only one afraid." Caleb cut his gaze to Dean, surprised he brought up the prodigal Winchester. Sam was a subject they averted these days and Caleb could admit that as much as he missed John's youngest son, he did not long to reopen old wounds for Dean. "You both would somehow end up in my room after Jim let you watch that stupid cartoon."

"Like hell. That mojo bag must be affecting your memory, Damien. I was fine with Abominable."

"About the time your voice started to change, maybe." Caleb smirked. "And only then after he lost his teeth."

"Speaking of terrifying monsters, do you think it's too much to hope for our own Yukon Cornelius and some pliers?" Dean's query had Caleb remembering the desperate pleas of a seven year old, demanding Caleb pinky swear that Abominables couldn't survive in Kentucky, that he and his three year old brother were completely safe from Rudolph's arch nemesis and that if one did happen to appear, that there was no need to fear because dragons were their one mortal enemy.

Lost in the past, he nearly collided with his best friend, who had drawn up short after clearing the forest. Dean's gaze was locked on the two story cabin before them. From the outside it looked Christmas card perfect framed by white-iced pines on either side, a month's supply of wood chopped and tucked neatly under an awning. Warm glowing windows beckoned. Picturesque puffs of smoke coming from the chimney promised refuge, but Caleb, like Dean couldn't help but to see it for what it was-the lair of a roaring, roiling-eyed snow beast waiting to devour them for dinner. He only hoped John's anger might be quenched with a red-nosed psychic's demise, and his best buddy Hermey would be spared.

"Damien?"

Caleb dug deep in his reserves and garnered another crooked smile, knowing Dean was watching him. The seven year old was now twenty three, but it didn't change the psychic's need to reassure him he was safe, that any monster that dared attack would be felled by Belac.

"You know what Pastor Jim says, Deuce," Caleb nudged his best friend forward. "Christmas is the time for miracles."

RCJ


	2. Chapter 2

Dragon Slayer

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: A little treat since we are without an episode again this week. I so appreciate all the kind reviews, and to the person who requested to see 'why' exactly John Winchester was kept on as The Knight of The Brotherhood, I hope this answers some of your dismay with past stories. (grin).

RCJ

"_If one lives among wolves, then one must act like a wolf." -anonymous_

Dean Winchester quickly abandoned any hopes for a miracle when Bobby Singer was the one to usher them in after Buzz gave the password. The mechanic looked from Dean to Caleb with a shake of his head. "Ah, hell."

The momentary warmth of the cabin vanished beneath the blast of icy hostility that greeted them once inside. Dean tried to keep his focus on the blazing fire, the aroma of strong coffee, and some kind of meat cooking instead of the strangers gathered in the room. The men ranged in size and age, one as young as Caleb, the others looking closer to their mid forties. They were all dressed in winter camouflage and well-armed like Sullivan.

"What are you two idjits doing here?" Bobby hissed, rubbing a hand over his beard. The fact he was keeping his voice low did nothing to elevate Dean's optimism. "You should _not_ be here."

"So everyone keeps telling us. It kind of hurts a guy's feelings. " Dean offered a grin, which Bobby did not return.

"I'll put on some fresh brew." Buzz clapped Singer on the shoulder, starting towards the open area off to the right. Dean noticed the kitchen had a surprising array of modern appliances, including a gas range, microwave and huge refrigerator/freezer. The Brotherhood had cabins spread around the country, stockpiled with provisions and available for use by hunters in need. The few Dean had used were never this nice, more backwoods shanty than home, and he wondered if Mackland might not have been the benefactor behind this particular property.

"Dig out the good whiskey, too," Bobby groused. "We're going to need it."

"I found these two spying on our home base from the ridge above us." Sullivan explained, pulling off his coat, which he handed to one of the three unknown hunters who stepped forward to surround them. Dean surmised they were more of The Guardian's protection, and felt his hackles rise at the fact they were being treated like prisoners instead of fellow hunters, let alone the extended family of The Triad.

"We weren't spying," he clarified. "This goon practically kidnapped me and Damien from a perfectly nice hike in the mountains. We might have been scouting for Christmas trees for all he knows."

"They claim to have no idea that this was a secured location." Sullivan ignored him, continuing his report to Bobby.

"Trust me; if we'd had known this was some kind of top secret Brotherhood operation we would have stayed away or announced ourselves outright." Caleb interrupted Sullivan, turning to Bobby. "This is all just a misunderstanding, Sanford. Give us the all clear with the gung ho G.I. Joe here and we'll be on our merry way as it looks like you all have the situation under control. No harm, no foul."

"I'm afraid it's a little too late for that, Junior." Bobby motioned for the hired guns to move back just as a door off to the side opened. The Knight and Scholar entered. For the first time Dean felt as much the outsider as Sullivan was attempting to paint them.

"Dad?" Caleb was surprised.

Dean noticed Mac looked even less happy to see them than Bobby, and considering the mechanic had looked like someone just took a crowbar to his favorite car, or called his hero John Wayne a pussy, that was saying something. Caleb's hand went to the mojo bag at his chest, probably cursing the fact he hadn't been given a heads up to The Scholar's presence. Dean wondered if his best friend even realized he'd taken a step closer to Dean, inched just a tiny bit in front of him. It was annoying out in the field with Sullivan but here, in close proximity with their family it confirmed Dean's suspicion that they had somehow landed themselves in the role of the enemy. It was a place that gave him a bit of empathy for those who found themselves on the other side of that fine line between right and wrong when it came to The Brotherhood.

"What the hell are you two doing here? You're supposed to be in Florida." It wasn't Mac who spoke, but John Winchester. His long stride carried him across the spacious front room quickly. The other hunters, including Sullivan, almost tripped over themselves to get out of his way. If Dean hadn't been concerned for his and Caleb's welfare, he would have thoroughly enjoyed Sullivan's change of attitude in the wake of The Knight, which he claimed not to serve.

"Caleb?" John kept his eyes on his protégé, ignoring Dean's presence for the moment.

"Johnny."

Dean gave Damien credit. He didn't back up, or even flinch when John faced him toe to toe. The Knight's voice was calm, his manner controlled. It was not typical. A chill ran down Dean's spine. It was a barely managed fury Dean had witnessed the night that Sam left for Stanford. He had a sudden irrational fear that this was the end for Caleb, just as it had been for his brother.

"I asked you a question, Reaves."

Dean's heart rate kicked. The use of Caleb's last name was also not a good sign, nor was the fact Mac wasn't bothering to intercede on his son's behalf as he typically did in such rare showdowns. Mac stood off to the side, alert and tense. The other hunters in the room wisely moved further away, even Bobby, like wolves circling an alpha and his challenger, who in this case had no hopes of victory. It was going to be a bloodbath.

"You asked yet you didn't give me a chance to explain before huffing and puffing and threatening to blow the house down." Caleb smirked.

"Take note of who you're talking to." John reached out and shoved Caleb. "Watch your smart mouth."

Caleb stumbled slightly, but shoved John out of his personal space. "First you tell me to talk and now you tell me to shut up, which is it, Johnny?"

The Knight's reply was a swift punch that nearly took Caleb off his feet.

"Dad..." Dean tried only to have Bobby snatch him roughly out of the way by the scruff of his neck, so only Knight and protégé were in the center ring.

"Keep your trap closed, Kid," the mechanic warned. "You'll only make it worse."

"What the hell?" Caleb staggered, bringing his hand to his mouth. Surprise and anger surpassed any hint of hurt, which told Dean his father had probably held back. This was more show of force than actual power play. In the back of Dean's brain he realized his father, The Knight, could not be seen as weak in front of these hunters.

Dean pulled from Bobby's grasp, staying where he was. His father might have been in control of the situation, but that didn't mean he could control Caleb any more than he could control Sam. Dean sure as hell didn't want to make matters worse, yet he wasn't going to leave his best friend in the trenches alone. He refused to lose another brother to his father's show of force.

"Give some respect or you and I will continue the discussion outside without witnesses." John shoved Caleb again. This time Caleb didn't retaliate. "Now answer the damn question. What are you doing here?"

"I was looking for you."Caleb straightened to his full height, taking his hand from his mouth. He glanced once at his father, then back to John, his quickly swelling lip curling slightly. "Sir."

Dean wasn't sure now was a good time for Caleb to go for the honest answer. He continued on heedless of Dean's silent demands to shut the fuck up. The psychic touched his head. "I had a vision, thought you might be in trouble."

Caleb of course left out the part where it was Dean who'd assumed the psychic's vision/nightmare from a couple of nights ago was about his father. Caleb had been unable to recall specific details except a sense of abject terror that left him losing his dinner of pizza and beer in the bathroom of The Hilton they were staying at in Pennsylvania. He also conveniently ignored the fact Dean had been the one to insist they take a detour from their Florida route long enough to track down John's location.

"A vision?" John looked to Mac then to Caleb.

"Yes." Caleb brought his hand to his mouth again, wincing. "Although I'm quickly seeing the error of my ways in giving one flying frig if you were dead or alive, _Sir_."

"When was this vision?" Mac finally spoke. His voice held none of its typical warmth. Dean was grateful for the interruption just the same as The Knight looked all too ready to deal with his protégé's less than sincere attempt at cowing to authority.

"It was more nightmare than vision," Caleb gestured to Sullivan. "As I tried to explain to the captain of The Royal Guard here."

"When, Caleb?" John demanded.

"The night before last," Caleb said through clenched jaw.

"The night of the accident." Mac commented. His finger traced his eyebrow in a familiar way that had the bunched knots in Dean's shoulders loosening slightly.

"What accident?" Dean asked.

"My accident."

Whatever modicum of comfort Dean had gleaned from Mac's reaction, Jim's appearance quashed. The Guardian stood braced in the doorway of the room the Knight and Scholar had exited. Even with the sturdy oak frame as a prop he looked unsteady on his feet. Dark bruises dotted his face, standing out starkly in comparison to the white bandage wrapped around his head. One eye was swollen three times its size, the pastor's cornflower blue iris not even visible. Scout stood at her master's side, tail swishing from side to side as she happily regarded the latest arrivals.

"My God, Jim." Caleb made a move to step towards The Guardian, but The Knight gripped his arm, stopping his advance.

"I assure you it looks worse than it is." Jim moved forward. Dean recognized the telltale signs of cracked ribs by the way the pastor's arm hugged his midsection as he managed an upright, albeit shuffling gate. Jim surprised Dean by shooting a wink in his direction before turning to address Sullivan. "Gage, why don't you take your team, and get in one more patrol of the perimeter before dark."

"But, Sir, I really don't think we should leave you considering..."

Jim turned to address Buzz before Sullivan could finish his thought. "It might be a good idea to accompany them as you know the area better, Theodore."

Dean quirked a brow at Caleb mouthing 'Theodore' as Buzz gave a sharp nod at The Guardian's orders.

"Yes, sir." Buzz took one last drink of the coffee he'd just poured and motioned to Sullivan. "You heard the man. Mount up boys."

It didn't take but a moment for the men to don coats and masks, grab their gear and clear out. Once the door was closed behind them the mood instantly shifted. Dean could feel the charge in the air evaporating. Scout meandered to his side, her nails clicking on the hardwood. She nudged her big head against his legs. The smells of the fire and dinner were once more in the forefront, the popping and crackling of the flames filling the temporary silence. Dean's stomach growled.

"Get your hands off me." Caleb pulled out of John's grasp. He took a step back, shoulder to shoulder with Dean, though his eyes stayed locked on Jim.

"We weren't expecting you, my boys." Jim stepped into the center of their small circle, his eyes going from Caleb to Dean and back to Caleb "Are you alright?"

"I believe that should be our question," Dean replied, patting Scout's head, before moving closer to the pastor. "Pardon the language, but you look like Hell, Skin Horse."

The old nickname brought a quick smile to the Guardian's face. It was a welcomed site, softening the weathered and weary lines, making Jim look more like his larger than life self and less like the injured fragile aging man before them.

He grasped Dean's shoulder then moved a hand to lightly pat Caleb's face. "I see you two have once again landed yourselves into a mess through no fault of your own."

"No fault my ass," The Knight growled. He pointed a finger at Caleb then to Dean to make sure his son knew he was also included on his shit list. Dean couldn't help the surge of relief that making eye contact with his father brought. He was still pissed at him. The man hadn't been in touch with Dean in weeks, not bothering to answer his phone when Dean tried to check-in. Hitting Caleb was the proverbial nail in the coffin, but Dean was so damn glad the bastard was breathing. "They disobeyed direct orders from The Guardian."

"Something you yourself, Knight of The Brotherhood, a fully grown man with years of experience under your tool belt would never dream of," Bobby snorted.

"Shut up, Singer. Maybe you should have gone on with the Light Brigade or better yet, Scout looks like she might need to go out."

The retriever barked, sitting at attention at the sound of her name.

"As much as I might have preferred to be stumbling around out in the dark with a friggin' blizzard blowing in, and God knows what prowling the woods, I am a lucky member of this ragtag family." Bobby gave an apologetic nod in the dog's direction. "Scout will just have to hold it because I'm not going any damn where."

Jim cleared his throat, arching his brow at Caleb. "I didn't exactly make myself specifically clear on a timeline for the Florida job, but I do recall you saying it would be taken care of promptly, Caleb."

"We were on our way there, Jim, but the nightmare..."

"I asked him to find Dad," Dean kept his gaze on the pastor, avoiding both Caleb's and his father's angry twin gazes. "It was me who thought Caleb's dream was about him. Then Dad didn't answer his phone, and I had a bad feeling something was really wrong."

"For good reason it turns out. Many things are currently wrong." Jim turned his gaze to John, a deep disappointed frown darkening his features once more making him looked tired and sickly. "Lashing out at each other will not make them right. I'm not quite sure the boys' change in plans warranted certain measures."

"Oh measures were warranted," John glanced at Caleb. "I can't appear coddling in front of those men, not for a damn second, anymore than Mac can appear doting or you condoning, and you damn well know it. I knocked him in the mouth as much for his own good as the future Knight as any pleasure I might have gained. Considering all the times I've held back when I should have laid him flat for his smart ass attitude, I think I showed great restraint."

"I think you showed everyone how much of an ass you can be," Mac stated, pulling one of the big overstuffed chairs closer to the fireplace. "I think my son's attitude and propensity to disobey orders is mostly of your own making, and I also think Jim should sit down before he falls down since he too seems insistent on showing his obstinacy by flagrantly disobeying doctor's orders."

"I'm fine, Mackland." Dean breathed easier as Jim swatted the doctor's hand away, getting himself to the chair without assistance.

"Are you really?" Dean asked, unable to hide the concern in his voice or the dismay over the entire turn of events.

Jim raised his eyes to Bobby. "Robert, won't you get the boys some of your famous stew. I'm sure they haven't had dinner."

Bobby grunted, but started for the kitchen. Dean pulled his own chair up to the fire to sit facing The Guardian. Scout abandoned her hopes for a walk and collapsed on the thick braided rug between them. "What's going on?"

"Did your accident prompt calling in that prick Sullivan?" Caleb perched on the arm of Dean's chair. "As long as I've known you, I don't remember you calling in security."

"Gage Sullivan is a fine hunter, my boy. Despite the fact he can be rather zealous about his job, I trust him. I trust his team, and I should as I handpicked them." Jim rubbed his side, resting against the back of the chair. "I admit I don't call on them as much as some Guardians have, but I have had use of their services from time to time, especially in days of late."

"You're avoiding answering my question, Merlin," Dean continued, knowing he would not have long to be so frank considering Sullivan and company would return soon. No matter how much faith Jim had in Sullivan and his men pretenses would have to be maintained. "What's all this about? Did you get hurt on a hunt?"

"Nothing so predictable, I'm afraid. My office at the church blew up."

"Come again?" Dean tilted his head to look from the pastor to his father, hoping to catch some inkling that maybe Jim's head injury warranted more concern. "Did you say the rectory blew up?"

"You heard him, Ace," John answered. "Thankfully, it was a small device, military issue, meant to contain the explosion to Jim's office and private quarters."

"Damn." Caleb shook his head. "Did Brother Benjamin finally take the last desperate step to usurp you as Pastor?"

"Now is not the time for your distasteful humor, Son." Mac's voice was sharp, held a firm warning. Jim's mouth twitched.

Dean couldn't help himself. He glanced up at Caleb. "We all should have seen this coming with the coveted Christmas Eve service coming on and all. It has all the makings of a Tom Clancy novel-Death by Dirty Deacon."

"That's enough."This time John moved to the back of Dean's chair, putting his hand on his son's neck. He squeezed just hard enough to make sure Dean knew he meant business. "This is why we didn't invite the kids to the party."

"Yet the wisdom of throwing _kids _into serious, most often deadly adult situations has never entered your mind before." Caleb folded his arms over his chest, leaning back so he could lock gazes with The Knight. Dean recognized the posturing, his best friend's attempt to get a few blows of his own in. Caleb had not been the forgiving sort where Dean's father was concerned since Sam had left for Stanford. "Or is this more of you saving face."

Jim cleared his throat. "Don't think I didn't consider Benjamin's grudge against me, my boy."

Dean was grateful the pastor's injuries had not dulled his impeccable timing or his ability to take control of a conversation. One physical confrontation between Knight and protégé was enough for one day. Jim winked at Dean with his one good eye. "But considering he was meeting with me at the time concerning his vision for that coveted Christmas Eve service, I find it highly unlikely he plotted to take me out."

"Is he alright?" Dean might have loved to rag Jim about his second in command at the church and their twenty year holy war, but in truth Benjamin was a good friend to the pastor, the first to offer his services in a crisis and step in when Jim was called away for Brotherhood business that he couldn't exactly explain.

"He received some bumps and bruises, a nasty headache like me, but he's fine. The Lord was truly with us." Jim touched the bandage on his head. "Although, I dare say Ruth may never return to my office. I think her tail might have been slightly singed."

"Good thing senior cats and crotchety old men of God have nine lives." Caleb grinned, relaxing his stance.

"I hope you are referring to Brother Benjamin because I could just as easily get behind my Knight's idea of discipline, young man."

"How did you explain the blast to Benjamin?" Dean was curious and didn't want to give his father any ideas. "Methodists down the street? Someone really upset with the length or content of last Sunday's sermon."

"The concussion made it easy to convince Benjamin that the small heater under Jim's desk exploded," Mac explained. "I had a Geek Squad assigned clean-up crew and our inside man at the New Haven police department take care of the rest."

"That must have been some head wound, or all these years of you feeding Brother Ben lame stories about your 'other' ministry has paid off big time," Caleb commented.

"What's the real story?" Dean looked from Mac to his father. Brother Benjamin might be naïve enough to buy a weak cover story, but Dean wanted answers. "Who would want to hurt Jim?"

"Take your pick of any hundred of supernatural creatures, Kid." Dean's father moved to the massive stone fireplace, picking up a poker. He stabbed it at the half burned logs. The flames hissed and cracked in response, growing bigger with the violent attention. Dean couldn't help to wonder where his father, The Knight had been when all this took place.

"Since when do The Brotherhood's typical enemy use military grade explosives?" Caleb challenged. "That's a human M.O."

"We think it's a Slayer." Bobby rejoined them, carrying two steaming bowls of soup, which he passed off to Caleb before starting back towards the kitchen. Dean hoped he was going to fetch a couple of beers to go with the meal because the idea of some alcohol suddenly surpassed his demanding stomach.

"What the hell's a Slayer?" Caleb passed one of the bowls to Dean.

"Besides a hot chick in a cheerleading skirt with a wooden stake and a hard on for vampires?" Dean blew on his first bite, shooting Caleb a grin.

"A Slayer is hard to explain. From what little we know about them it seems ingenious spell work is involved as well as a re-animated corpse," Mac said, kicking into what Dean liked to call Super Scholar Mode. "They are customized, so to speak, for whatever job that is required of them, almost always that job is to seek and destroy a specific target."

"So they're like a Zombie hit man?" Dean sucked in a breath, the soup he'd eaten still burning his tongue despite his attempts at cooling. Still, it tasted just this side of heavenly.

"A very apt comparison, my boy, although unlike zombies they appear to be extremely smart, retaining whatever intelligence and skill they held in life." Jim ran a hand through his hair. "I think Julian once tagged them the supernatural world's mercenaries, guns for hire."

"Why is this the first time we've heard of such a thing?" Caleb was more cautious with his meal, whether because of the chef or due to the temperature Dean wasn't sure. His best friend seemed to be waiting for Dean to go first before taking a bite of his own. Maybe the situation had more effect on the older hunter's appetite than it had Dean's, which had always proved impervious to stressful situations.

"Because most of the time we end up on the same side of the fence." John who was still crouched in front of the fire, tossed a few more logs into the flames before standing to face them. "Slayers are usually used by the supernatural sect to take care of competition in their ranks, run others out of their territories like gang warfare. They don't typically target innocents or even bother with humans and once their 'contract' is fulfilled they're done for, ashes to ashes and dust to dust."

"Plus they're damn rare," Bobby, who had once more come back from the kitchen, this time bearing Dean's wished for beer and a bowl of his own, added his two cents. "I've encountered one the whole time I've been in the business, and I can say the bastard was intense, downright dogged in whatever it was pursuing. Rufus and I didn't stick around to see what that something or someone was."

"Dad said they were part spell work." Caleb sat his bowl down on the oak end table beside them, taking the beer instead. "Does that mean they're controlled by someone else, by a witch?"

"They are created by dark magic for a price, but once brought about; Slayers are controlled by one thing and one thing only- their mission."

"That leads us again to the big question, why do you think it's a Slayer after Jim?" Dean finished the last bite of his soup, considered exchanging it for Caleb's still full bowl. Instead, he watched the Knight and Scholar exchange a glance, before Mac answered.

"Missouri had a vision."

"About Jim?" Caleb asked, passing his untouched bowl of soup to Dean, who only smirked at his own predictability. The older hunter didn't even need his abilities to read him.

"No, about the demise of one of her old coven friends, Hampton Goodard."

"I'm not following," Dean balanced his beer between his legs as he tucked into his second helping of stew. "Besides the hideous name, why was someone out to off old Hampton?"

"And why did it register in Missouri's orbit? She rarely gets visions unless they have something to do with The Brotherhood."

"Hampton happens to be a very powerful crafter. When Missouri contacted him to warn him of what she had seen, he told her that he had been approached by someone wanting a Slayer and assumed that his refusal to assist in that task was what had placed his life in jeopardy. It seems he has a reputation for being skilled enough to summon such a creature and had in the past conceded to do so for the right price."

"But this time he balked when he found out the target," Caleb surmised.

"The target was not the typical adversary, but a member of The Brotherhood, one of The Triad."

"When was this?" Caleb asked.

"Last week."

"That explains our gig in Florida," Dean passed the half finished bowl of stew back to Caleb, his appetite finally failing under the idea that they had been sent away like underlings. Most of the time he could overlook the things he wasn't privy to when it came to the workings of The Brotherhood. With his father's current secrecy this latest act seemed somehow hurtful, more like deception. It made the 'need to know' line much harder to swallow. "You wanted us out of the way."

"We wanted you boys safe until we could assess the threat," Jim clarified.

"You never considered we might be able to help?" Caleb dropped the bowl on the table harder than necessary. Scout whined, her tail beating the floor in a nervous reaction to the shift in emotion. "Or is it like Sullivan said and you were worried we would be a liability?"

"You know better than that, Son." Mackland sighed, looking to John as if he had proposed this would be Caleb's reaction.

"Do I?" Caleb shook his head. "I'm not so sure anymore, Mac."

"We didn't even know if this whole Slayer bit was legit, Kid," Bobby interjected, waving his spoon. "My sources weren't turning up anything, and if you haven't figured it out yet, not just any run of the mill crafter can pull off something like this."

"We thought Hampton could be misleading us to procure protection from The Brotherhood, especially in light of what Missouri had relayed to him."

"Then my office blew up." Jim sighed; sounding so weary some of Dean's ire gave way under concern.

"Which I obviously dreamed about." Caleb's frown deepened and he looked to his father. "If this bastard is supernatural, then I should have seen it coming sooner, unless it was somehow blocking me."

"We think it's psychic," John gestured to the mojo bag around Caleb's neck, as if that should explain it all. "Very psychic."

"If it did connect with me in that nightmare, even for an instant, I might be able to track it."

"No." Mac and Jim answered in unison.

The third member of the Triad said nothing. Dean watched his father's face. It was obvious to Dean in that moment that The Knight had possibly suggested the same thing. In fact, his suggestion might have been what prompted Dean and Caleb being sent as far away as possible by The Guardian. His dad, despite his show of bravado upon their arrival, had not been the one to object to them being involved, at least not Caleb. Dean wasn't sure if that made him feel better or much worse.

"Then I take it you all have some brilliant 'B' plan that makes hiding out in a psychic vortex in a cabin in the backwoods of North Carolina look pretty lame."

No one got the chance to respond to Caleb's accusation as the radio at The Knight's side crackled to life.

"_Rifleman, we have a problem. Do you read?" _

John pulled the two way from the clip on his belt. "Copy that, Ginger. Report."

Buzz's voice broke in and out above the sound of rapid gunfire, his reply garbled by static and shouts. _"One man MIA...two..."_

"Repeat, Ginger," John demanded, even as he moved into action, grabbing his coat and gun. Bobby put down his dinner, rushing to do the same. Without consciously thinking Dean made it to his feet, aware of Caleb right behind him.

"Mac and Bobby stay with Jim," John ordered. "I'll take the boys with me."

"Are you sure about that?" Bobby stood, but made no move towards the door.

"Yes. Check all the salt lines, reinforce the wards."

Dean watched the silent stare off between the two hunters. Bobby conceded quickly, giving a sharp nod that had Dean's gut twisting. He'd only been on a couple of hunts with Pastor Jim, and never ones where there was much of a threat. This was an entirely different situation. The Guardian's safety was first priority. It was severely humbling that in the grand scheme of things he and Caleb were grunt soldiers, practically boys playing at men.

"Take these." Mac moved quickly, picking up two camouflaged coats and hats, which he shoved towards Dean and Caleb. The paternal action did nothing for Dean's sudden self consciousness, although it was probably pure logic on Mac's part. It was freezing outside, and their black clothing would give them away quicker in a growing vast expanse of white. The doctor gripped Caleb's neck. "Keep that mojo bag on. Do not let your guard down. If that thing has the abilities I believe it does, it will be your equal at the least."

Caleb took the jacket with a snort. "Thanks for the encouragement, Dad."

Mac turned to Dean, clasping his shoulder. "Watch him, Son."

"Ginger? Do you read?" John tried the radio again.

The silence on the other end had them all exchanging knowing glances. Jim looked stricken. Dean imagined The Guardian was feeling helpless, an emotion that did not sit well on the pastor. Despite his kind demeanor, James Murphy was a soldier first and foremost, had been in one war or another most of his life. Mighty Silver Dragons did not sit well on the sidelines.

"Bring them back, Johnathan," he commanded.

The Knight was already preparing for the mission as he grabbed another gun and a broad sword from behind the door. Dean had a feeling he was about to have his first encounter with a Slayer. It struck him he'd failed to ask one very important question, a question any hunter worth his salt would have asked. How the hell did you kill the damn thing?

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

Dragon Slayer

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Well there is a new episode tonight, but just in case it is more of the soul-crushing, sibling bashing, 'what _is_ this show', drivel, I at least offer up a new chapter. Let's hope an escape isn't needed. ;-)

RCJ

"_It is hard to fight an enemy that has outposts in your head."-anonymous_

"With this snow piling up, it's going to be hard to track them, Dad." Once outside, Dean was surprised to see the landscape before them transformed in such a short period of time. The light snow that had started on their trek to the cabin had quickly morphed into a squall. The storm Buzz mentioned earlier had descended upon them quickly, large snowflakes raining from the sky, the wind blowing it about like a white sheet flapping on a clothes line.

"They'd have gone north on the perimeter." John pointed towards the opposite side of the valley from where Dean and Caleb had been brought in by Buzz and Sullivan. "They vary the routes each night. This is the fourth night, so north."

"They've been gone almost half an hour," Dean noted, looking up at sky, which was almost completely dark, the white in the trees and on the ground giving more light than the spans of thick gray above them.

"How long does a patrol usually take?" Caleb asked.

"Forty five minutes at the most." John rubbed his beard, touching his radio again. It had remained silent.

"So we head south," Dean nodded towards the opposite path. "Taking in they should have almost made it full circle by the time…"

He let the words hang between them because they had no clue what had happened to Sullivan, his men and Buzz, though it was certain the worst was on all their minds.

"Let's move." John took them southward. Caleb and Dean rushed to keep up.

They had only been wading through the deepening snow for about ten minutes when they came to a small clearing, a circle of pines that would have been a prime camping spot in the summer. The trees seemed to lean towards one another in a secret meeting, their whispery tops creating a canopy that was now shrouded in snow, bending under the weight as if the accumulation had been spackled there to form a cave. The sounds of a babbling creek echoed over the wind, but it was the scent of blood and gunpowder that had their small group pulling up short. Dean's father motioned for Caleb and Dean to circle around the opposite side.

Caleb nodded, giving the signal he would take the lead and for Dean to follow him. Dean's first thought as they edged forward was the snow made a hell of a back drop for violence. He wondered if Caleb's artist eye saw it differently, terrifyingly beautiful even. Red like a bold splash of paint spread beneath the body of one of Sullivan's team. From what was left of his head, Dean guessed it was the young guy, the one with the long hair. It fanned around him in the snow, like black ink.

"Shit," Caleb breathed, his murmur bringing Dean's eyes to another victim. Several feet beyond the first in a direct line of one another as if they had stepped onto the streets of Laredo for a show down, both a true shot, but neither emerging the victor.

'What the hell?' Dean signed, thankful not for the first time that the short period he had refused to talk had inspired Mac to encourage him and Caleb to learn a language that didn't require human voice.

'Cover me,' was Caleb's response. Dean did just that, pulling his weapon from its holster, shadowing the older hunter as he knelt to check each man. There was no doubt they were dead, yet Caleb went through the routine, searching for a pulse that wouldn't be there, running a hand over their vacant eyes to close them before he slid the silver rings from their fingers and slipped them into his pocket, The Brotherhood's version of dog tags.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Dean spoke, his hands on his gun.

"I'm thinking they shot each other." Caleb met his gaze, confusion warring with revulsion as he reached out and touched the mojo bag around the downed hunter's chest.

"Damn. Why?"

"It might have something with the fact I can sense you now and my abilities are fully back on line. This place is warded."

"Warded against wards?" Dean understood counter spells, but hadn't anticipated that this Slayer might utilize one.

"Something like that."

"So the bastard used mind control? Made them turn on one another?"

"That's one possibility." Caleb searched the tree line. "I can't get anything past the trees. The anti-ward only extends to this clearing."

John stepped out of the cover of trees on the other side, Dean instinctively training his weapon on him before recognizing who he was in the waning light. The Knight waved them his way. Dean gave the body of the young hunter another look. He couldn't have been much older than Sam, and it was a rare moment when Dean was thankful his brother was far away in California. Caleb tugged his jacket before moving toward John. Dean swallowed the lump in the back of his throat and followed.

"Any sign of Buzz and the others?" Caleb asked when they were safely within the trees once more.

"They double backed out of here, heading the opposite direction and not long ago considering the snow hasn't covered the boot prints. Three sets another farther behind."

"The Slayer?"

"Probably. Different prints, military issue boot from the looks of the tread."

"I think Sullivan's men took each other out, Johnny."

"You sure?"

"Pretty damn sure," Dean answered. "It looks like they were right on top of each other when they opened fire. Caleb thinks that clearing is blocked from our wards."

"Mind control?" John hazarded a guess, coming to the same conclusion they had.

"These men were trained hunters." Caleb frowned, pulling the mojo bag from beneath his coat. "They're protected with Missouri's best spell work, but in there something countered it. I'm thinking the bastard set a trap for them."

Dean watched his father search the darkness around them, his breath coming out in puffs of white like smoke where he'd pulled his face mask up to the top of his head. "Then he's as smart as we feared, and probably more prepared than we expected."

"I guess." Caleb shook his head. "It would take a hell of a strong telepath to trigger something like that in men who know how to put up mental blocks, but…"

Dean didn't hear the rest of Caleb's conclusion. The arrow that zinged past his ear claimed his attention. It left the faintest brush of air on his cheek before burying to the shaft in the closest tree beside him.

"Winchester! Move!" The warning shouts came from a small incline just above them, followed by a spurt of gunfire over their heads in the direction from where the arrow had been fired.

Dean didn't take time to decide if it was Buzz who had yelled the warning or Sullivan. He was too busy scrambling beside his father, ducking behind one of the older, larger trees. Another arrow, then two more successively tore into the bark of their unfortunate barricade. It was becoming painfully obvious, telepath or not, Slayers could wield a crossbow quite accurately, and had either night vision goggles or could see in the dark.

Another burst of gunfire tore open the quiet. Dean heard the crash of brush behind them. He hoped to hell it was Buzz and Sullivan as he attempted to offer them some cover by firing his gun at the invisible enemy who could have been anywhere now. Caleb was doing the same from behind a massive pine off to their right.

"Buzz, what the hell is going on?" Dean flinched at his father's roar.

"My guess is we've found your Slayer." Buzz weaved in and out of the trees, was now just to their left. His bulk was barely shadow. Sullivan was closer, his silver blond hair standing out in the sparse light.

"Bastard grabbed Jackson right under our noses, used him to lead us to that stand of pines," Adams huffed.

"Once we got here there was no sign of Jackson or the slayer but it didn't take long to realize he'd used a little bit of magic of his own," Sullivan added. "Our wards were useless. My men turned on each other."

"We saw." John clenched his teeth as another arrow embedded itself in the tree. Dean fired another round before his father gripped his arm. "Save your ammunition. We're firing blind."

"I hope you got a plan, Winchester." Buzz hissed. "Because this cover is shabby at best, and I have a feeling our friend is just playing with us. There's nothing stopping him from circling around for an ambush."

"Caleb. Move." Dean felt his father shift, lean around the base of the tree to offer fire so Caleb could reach their location. The younger hunter rolled from his position, and Dean caught his breath when an arrow struck the snow inches from where Caleb had been.

"Florida is looking really, really good right now, Deuce." Caleb said as he came to a crouch close to Dean, who pressed his back against the tree to make room so they were still all three covered, if only barely, by the pines width. As it was they were practically on top of each other.

"You realize it's surrounded by the ocean." Caleb's dislike of the beach and anything sea-like was usually an off limit, below the belt kind of taunt, but Dean figured their situation allowed for absolution.

"After tonight, I might learn to love the sunny beach, sand, salt and all."

"Then next time maybe we'll obey orders," Dean replied, grinning despite the fact it felt like his heart was trying to pound its way free of his chest.

"I'll believe it when I see it." Dean's father surprised him by not chastising their banter, instead joining in. "Threat of death has never worked on either of your hard heads before. Why should now be any different?"

"Look, Deuce, Johnny chooses a most inappropriate time to get a sense of humor."

Dean snorted. "And Mac wonders where we pick up our bad habits."

"We have a situation here! My team is dead!" Sullivan growled. "What is wrong with you people?"

"Junior, I need you to do something," The Knight ignored the irate hunter beside them, gripping Caleb's arm. Dean felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention, registering the new threat amongst them.

"Yes, sir." Caleb's reply was far from snide now, completely sincere and earnest in the heat of battle. The implications sent a chill racing down Dean's spine.

"I want you to distract that sonofabitch. Give Buzz and me an opening to do the circling around this time."

"How do you expect him to do that?" Dean understood he was stepping over an invisible line. His father's commands were not to be questioned in mundane, everyday situations. If he told you to take out the trash, start dinner or to go take a piss, you damn well did it. Hunting was another situation entirely. There was no room for resistance.

"What do you want me to do?" Caleb asked quickly before Dean's father could address his son's insubordination.

"Connect with it."

"What? No." Dean didn't give a shit about chain of command in that moment, years of training flying out the window in the face of doing what was right despite what his father thought was prudent. Two more arrows struck the side of the tree, punctuating his protests. "Mac said that was a bad idea, Dad. You heard him, Damien."

John Winchester had his son by the shirt in the blink of an eye. His fist twisted in the fabric threatening to choke Dean as he jerked him forward. "I have two men down, a third missing, four pinned in a no win situation. Our ammunition isn't limitless, and even if it was, we don't even know what bullets will do to that thing. As far as we know, you have to cut its head off to even begin to stop it. So if you have a better idea, hell_, any_ idea, I'd love to hear it, Ace. If not, keep your damn mouth shut."

"I'll do it." Caleb gripped the mojo bag around his neck and started to take it off. "I've connected with black dogs and spirits, and things much worse in visions. This can't be much different."

John let go of Dean and stopped his protégé from slipping the ward from around his neck. For a second Dean thought his father had regained his senses. Dean wouldn't have to explain to Mac how he'd failed in his mission to watch Caleb's back. "You'll need to give us a few minutes. This could be our one chance to bag this thing, shut it down before it does anymore damage and maybe get Jackson back. Do you think you can handle that?"

Dean wanted to scream that Caleb had no idea what he could or could not handle because he had never tried to purposively connect with a reanimated telepathic corpse amped up on some witchdoctor's spell work.

"I'll give it my best shot."

"Good." John slapped his shoulder and then nodded to Buzz. "On my sign we break cover and double back. Sullivan you and Dean provide cover until Caleb gets a lock."

"How the hell will we know when that happens?" Sullivan demanded.

"You'll know." John met Caleb's gaze. "Okay, Junior."

Caleb didn't hesitate. He lifted the mojo from around his neck, tossing it aside. "I have to move away from you because of your wards." He shifted his gaze to Dean, the look unreadable although Dean imagined it was supposed to assure him that everything would be fine. Dean wasn't convinced. "I'm still being blocked."

"Go." John nodded to the tree-lined ridge where Sullivan and Adams had been hiding before Dean could utter a word of resistance. "There should work."

Dean did the only thing he could do. He turned and started firing in the direction that the arrows had continued to come from, determined to offer whatever protection he could, knowing there was no turning back from his father's plan at this point.

Caleb ran for it as Sullivan joined Dean in volleying rounds. Buzz and John took off to the right. At first the arrows kept coming, Dean kept firing, pausing only to reload. Time seemed to slow, the silence of the woods amplified by the bursts of noise. He imagined his father and Buzz, weaving their way through the trees, tried to mentally keep up with where they might be, but kept his firing high. A guttural scream came from the darkened woods before them and Dean chanced a look at Sullivan.

"Hold your fire," Gage ordered.

Dean searched the ridge behind them, hoping he could catch site of his friend, understanding that Caleb had accomplished some kind of connection with the Slayer when no more arrows came and another howl from the monster broke the night. It was primal and pain-filled, and disturbingly human. Dean prayed his father and Buzz made quick work to put the thing out of its misery.

"I take it Reaves has a lock," Sullivan questioned.

Dean nodded. "Sounds that way."

"What the hell is he doing to it?" Sullivan had made his way to Dean's side, keeping himself tucked against their cover.

"Have you seen Star Wars?" Dean met the older hunter's blue gaze.

"Who hasn't, Kid?"

"Let's just say Darth Vader has nothing on Caleb." Dean had been about thirteen when he first understood the kind of damage Caleb could inflict, that his abilities weren't just confined to premonitions and an uncanny sense of where Dean and Sam might be at any given time. It was a situation very unlike this one, a danger Dean had brought on himself by interceding on behalf of a girl from his school. The girl's stepfather was a monster of a different kind. Caleb had done what he'd been trained to do, protect Dean and Sam from anything evil. It had cost his friend in more ways than one. His best friend was powerful beyond any normal human scope; he was also inflicted with more humanity than most typical men Dean would encounter. He wanted to make sure Sullivan didn't misunderstand. "Only Caleb's one of the good guys."

"I hear that's still up for debate."

"What are you saying?"

"Nothing I'm sure you haven't heard before." Sullivan nodded towards the ridge as the slayer let out another cry. "Some of our ranks worry about where Reaves's abilities originate."

"Yet, those same people seem to have no problem with Caleb using those abilities if it serves their purposes." Dean wasn't just pissed at Sullivan. His anger extended to his own father as well. John Winchester wasn't exempt from such prejudices, or from exploiting his protégé's desires to prove himself worthy. The reminder was enough to prompt Dean to his feet, plan be damned.

"Where the hell are you going, Winchester? Your father said to stay put."

Dean felt no need to give the hypocritical hunter a response as he made his way up the ridge. He knew Caleb needed space because of the mojo bags, but wanted a visual in case things went south. He'd made Mac a promise to watch his son's back. He wasn't going to break it.

"Stay back." Caleb warned as Dean topped the hill. The older hunter was on his knees, about ten feet away, one hand braced against the snowy ground, the other held out to keep Dean from coming closer.

"Damien?" Dean wavered, but stayed put. Caleb had pulled off his hat and face mask, the light reflecting off the snow revealing his pale pallor. A streak of blood ran from his nose.

"It's fighting me…" Caleb kept his eyes squeezed shut. "I'm having a hard time keeping connected, while keeping it out. Like holding onto a fucking eel…"

"Then maybe you should just back off, man." Dean was torn, knowing his father and Buzz were counting on the distraction, but not liking the way Caleb was shaking, the look of pain on his screwed up features.

"No." Caleb shook his head. "Not yet."

Sullivan came alongside Dean, growling his disapproval. "Breaking cover was not smart."

"Then why follow me?"

"Because I for one know how to follow orders."

Caleb cried out, setting Dean's nerves on edge. He took a step towards his best friend, who was now doubled over, both hands brought to his head. "Caleb?"

"I can't hold it…" The psychic's voice was choked, his breathing too fast. "I can't keep it out."

"Let it go, Damien." Dean crossed the distance between then, kneeling in the snow. He wished his father would hurry the hell up and put an end to this. He and Adams had to be in position by now.

"I'm trying…" Caleb jerked as if he had been struck, another moan escaping.

It was enough to make up Dean's mind. Caleb's time as decoy was up. The Slayer obviously had the upper hand now, and Dean would use whatever he needed to thwart it. He placed his gun in its holster. Pulling the mojo bag he was wearing from beneath his jacket, he turned to Sullivan. "Help me. Get his hands."

"Your father..."

"I thought you didn't take orders from The Knight!" Dean glared at the older hunter. "You answer to The Guardian. I can promise you James Murphy will not understand the fact you sat by and let one of _his_ boys get his brain pulverized by some psychic zombie. He'll have your ring, or worse, your head."

"Damn it." Sullivan dropped his rifle to the ground, joining Dean. "I knew this mission was going to be FUBAR as soon as you two showed up."

"Hang on, Damien." Dean nodded he was ready and Sullivan reached out to pull Caleb's hands out of the way. Caleb fought, but must have been weakened by the battle he was waging with the slayer. Dean didn't know if his friend could distinguish his fight with the monster in his head with the physical struggle. It didn't take Sullivan long to subdue him, and Dean quickly slipped the necklace over his friend's head. "Now yours."

"You know we'll be easy targets."

"Just do it."

The second ward barely touched the psychic's chest when Caleb jerked, going completely rigid before he slumped against Dean. "Easy, man. I got you."

"I need to warn your father and Adams."

Dean watched Sullivan slip his radio from his belt before focusing on Caleb once more. His friend was barely conscious, his body temperature and breathing registering as if he'd run a marathon.

"They're not answering."

A spurt of gun fire in the distance had them both jerking, Caleb stirring against Dean. He muttered something unintelligible. Dean clutched him tighter for a moment, fearing he'd made the wrong choice, hoping his decision didn't cost his father.

"I'll go." Sullivan seemed to read Dean's thoughts, started for the trail they'd come.

Dean eased Caleb to the ground, standing. He couldn't leave his friend defenseless. He could lay down some fire with the ammunition he had left. He pulled his gun free. "I'll cover you."

Sullivan turned to nod at Dean, but drew up short. Before Dean could register why, the other hunter brought up his rifle, pointing it at Dean. For a split instant Dean feared his fate to be like Sullivan's team. The Slayer had somehow gotten inside Sullivan's head now that he was not protected by Missouri's spell work.

"Winchester! Behind you!"

Dean whirled, catching a blur of gray an instant before he was hit. His gun was knocked from his hand. The blow sent him flying, like a dirty tackle from an offensive lineman. He slammed into Sullivan, both of them somersaulting head over heels down the steep incline. The snow padded their landing, but Dean's luck didn't hold. He ended up on the bottom of the pile, Sullivan's full weight landing on the younger hunter's right leg.

Something snapped and Dean saw stars. The pain threatened to send him over another ledge, this time into oblivion. He couldn't stop the cry of pain, wondering if his shout was as blood curdling and primal as the Slayer's had been earlier.

Dean was vaguely aware of Sullivan trying to get up, trying to help him, but the Slayer was quicker. It was down the embankment and on top of them. The Slayer flung the older hunter off Dean as if he were stuffed with cotton. Sullivan's body made a sick thud as it struck a tree, but Dean didn't dare chance a look. He kept his bleary gaze locked on the hideous face swimming in and out of focus before him, a flash of gold at its throat. Dean's attention was drawn to a patch of skull shining beneath thinned black and blue mottled flesh as the creature reached for him, its teeth flashing as it smiled in triumph. The smell of decay had Dean's stomach twisting. He tried desperately to scramble away, but the slayer stepped a massive black boot on Dean's injured leg and bore down its six foot muscled frame.

Blackness once more closed in on the edges of his vision. Dean screamed, the creature soon joining him with its own shrieks. Dean didn't understand. Blinking the beast into focus again as the pressure on his knee blessedly vanished. He was unsure if the monster was merely mocking him or eliciting some kind of battle victory cry, but then it stumbled further away from him, gripping its head much like Caleb had before.

"Damien." Dean turned his eyes to the ridge, caught sight of Caleb on his knees where it look like he'd half crawled, half slid his way down the embankment. He had Dean's gun, which he raised as soon as the slayer was away from Dean, firing what was left of the clip into the thing's chest and head. The slayer's body jerked with each direct hit, but didn't go down. When Sullivan recovered enough to add his own assault the slayer seemed to recognize it was time for a retreat. It moved with unnatural quickness, vanishing into the woods, Sullivan firing after it.

"Dean?" Caleb called out before he pitched forward and was still.

Dean struggled to get up, grasping his leg as it fired in pain. He got to a knee on his good leg. "Sullivan, a little help here."

The older hunter moved slowly since he was still recovering, but he reached out a strengthening arm and helped Dean up. Dean sharply exhaled, and blinked the tears coming unbidden as wave after wave of pain assaulted him.

"Standing on that leg is not a good idea, Kid."

"I'm not standing on that leg. I'm using my good one." Dean wanted to double over, but his need to go to Caleb overrode that idea.

They started the slow steps to Caleb, thankfully three painful steps were all that was needed as John and Buzz came running to them. Now that the Calvary had arrived, Dean hoped when he woke up next he was back in the cabin. He made eye contact with his father, hoped the bastard saw the anger reflected in his gaze and proceeded to promptly pass out.

To be continued…


	4. Chapter 4

Dragon Slayer

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: An extra long chapter since I didn't post last week. I hope you enjoy! Thanks to all those who have taken the time to review. I promise more action is to come in the next chapter!

RCJ

_Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival._ –C.S. Lewis

Warm light beyond his closed lids beckoned Caleb, a voice spoke his name. It wasn't any outside source that finally broke the tether keeping him in the darkness, but the echo of a call he'd heard just before he'd passed out.

"Dean." His best friend's name was on his lips, even before he was fully conscious, though he couldn't quite reason why. The pounding in his head soon drove out any thoughts of anything but his current misery.

"Caleb? Can you hear me, Son?" His father's touch brushed against his forehead.

Caleb blinked. The charming luminescence that had lured him was instantly less welcoming once his eyes were open. Now abrasive and demanding, burning away the last traces of comfort. "Dad…"

"Take it easy." Mac withdrew his hand, claiming the chair he'd pulled close to the bed. "I imagine you have quite the headache."

Caleb wasn't sure if a flair for understatement was a doctor thing or merely Mac. It felt like his skull was quite likely to shatter at any moment if the agonizing pressure pulsating behind his forehead was any indication. He hoped his father didn't ask him to give a number on a scale of 1-10.

"Drugs." Caleb's tongue was thick, the single word taking more work than he imagined.

"I promise I didn't give you anything, the disorientation is from the stress you put on your abilities." Mac assaulted him with more light, this time in the form of his infamous pen, which Caleb and Dean were convinced was far better suited for an instrument of torture, than a medical tool to test pupil reaction.

Caleb squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath. He hadn't been accusing his father, he'd been asking for relief. "Drugs, please?"

Mac clicked off the pen, mercifully returned it to his pocket. "Your state of physical exhaustion made me wary of using any narcotics. It seems along with my direct order not to remove the ward Missouri created, you have also discarded all the rules of psychic projection. You didn't eat dinner, nor did you have adequate stores of energy or hydration to undertake a full on battle with a telepath equal to your skill."

"Damn…" Caleb tried to sit up, his pain pushed aside in lieu of memories his father's lament stirred. Now he recalled why exactly his best friend had been his first waking thought. "The Slayer. Where's Dean?"

Mac's hand returned. This time it applied pressure to Caleb's chest, effectively pinning the future Knight of the Brotherhood to the mattress with little effort. Caleb would have been embarrassed if he hadn't been desperate for news of Dean. "Moving too quickly would not be a good idea, Son, as purging your system of what little nutrients it has left would only exacerbate your existing…"

"Damn it, Mac!" Caleb shoved at his father's restraint. A wave of nausea was reason enough to consider and heed his dad's warning. He would have risked further misery to try his connection with Dean, but had already sensed the numbing presence of the wards around his neck, the cabin still under the influence of spell work. "Is Deuce okay? What happened after I passed out?"

"Dean's okay." Mac removed his arm once it was evident to both physician and patient that it was not needed considering Caleb could barely lift his head off the pillow, let alone get out of the bed.

"What about John and the others?"

"They're fine, although Gage is understandably distraught over his team. One of the men killed was a close friend and the other man, Jackson, is still missing."

"Where's Deuce?" Caleb trusted his father not to lie to him, especially where Dean was concerned. He would feel better seeing his friend for himself.

"He's in the living room having breakfast."

"And what aren't you telling me? I know he was hurt." Caleb distinctly remembered the wash of pain that had come across his connection with the younger Winchester, powerful enough to make it through the barrier of both wards Dean had used to break Caleb's telepathic link with the Slayer. It had brought him back to awareness, and given him the surge of adrenaline that allowed him to reestablish a connection with the Slayer preventing it from continuing its attack on Dean.

"I believe he dislocated his knee in the fall with Gage."

"Damn." Caleb winced, having experienced such an injury on a hunt with John. It required surgery and physical therapy.

"It realigned on its own, which is always the best case scenario, but I believe there's ligament damage. I'll need an MRI to know for sure. For now I've immobilized it, and have been carrying out an icing regiment to keep the swelling at a minimum."

"I should have been quicker..."

"This isn't your fault," Mac was quick to counter. "Johnathan should never have asked you to engage with the Slayer. It is obviously more than any of us expected."

Caleb frowned at his father, knowing all too well The Scholar was extremely biased on his behalf. Most days it was comforting to know someone was in his corner, but in moments when failure was so obvious, expressed in an injury to one of his charges, Caleb found it merely patronizing. "You had your suspicions though. That's why you were so against me trying to take it on. It's what you meant when you said it was my equal."

Mac ran a finger over his brow. "I found it highly unlikely that any typical supernatural creature would dare challenge The Triad. Vampires, witches, the likes, may attack individual hunters, but they are not prone to bold displays of treachery against such a powerhouse."

"Humans are usually the only ones so stupid." Caleb thought of Griffin Porter, his attempt to overthrow Jim as Guardian from years past. The fact they were once again in a snowy cabin in the hills of North Carolina was not lost on him.

"No human is behind this."

"So you naturally thought demons." Caleb had made the connection the instant he'd linked with the Slayer, sensed the familiar darkness, a blackness he'd experienced only a few times before. It was a mark he feared he shared.

"It was the only thing that made sense," Mac conceded. "Our Triad was in agreement."

Caleb's face must have given away his thoughts. Mac suddenly looked stricken, guilty. He rushed to make it right though waging war with the truth was a futile battle, and they both knew it. Mac might as well have been jousting windmills. "In no way was I implying it was dangerous for you because of your suspected lineage. That is not why we chose to keep you and Dean out of this."

"The spell work used to create the Slayer utilized demon blood. A lot of demon blood if its skill is any indication." Caleb was not in the right frame of mind to discuss his family tree. "The Slayer is strong telepathically, but its skill is raw, more brute strength than finesse. It's nothing like any zombie or reverent I've ever encountered."

Mac sighed. Caleb would have felt his own bit of remorse for not letting his dad off the hook if his head hadn't been hurting at a level that made his eyes sting. His heart pounded so fast he could feel its beat in his temples like a sledge hammer.

"Demon blood would also explain the supernatural strength and quickness Dean described from his up close encounter."

"You sure he's okay?" Caleb managed to push himself up in bed, the pain abating some under his sheer will and worry for his friend.

"The injury hasn't seemed to distract him from his obstinacy as he insisted on keeping vigil for you even after I explained that you were not in any immediate danger. He and Jim are cut from the same cloth. I had to run them both out at daybreak." Mac offered Caleb a smile that belied his tone of exasperation.

"It's morning." The growl in Caleb's stomach alerted him to the fact time had passed, more so than his father's earlier mention of breakfast. He looked past Mac, to the one window in the large bedroom. He guessed he was in the back of the cabin if his obstructed view offered any insight. Muted light shone through, not direct sunlight, but perhaps the first hints of dawn highlighted by the landscape of vast white. The glow from the fireplace was brighter; a near solar flare to his sensitive occipital nerves. Caleb blamed it as the source of his reawakened pain. The heat it gave off, however, was welcomed. He couldn't stop the shudder than ran through him. "How long have I been out?"

"Nearly ten hours, though you've been somewhat lucid a few times." Mac glanced to the digital clock on the bedside table separating the larger bed Caleb was on from a set of bunk beds that lined the wall. "It's after six. I was worried I was going to have to start a field triage I.V. if you didn't soon wake and stay coherent enough to take some liquids."

"I'm glad we skipped that." Caleb hated needles. "I really prefer to take my nutrients the old fashioned way."

Mac started to stand. "I'll have Bobby bring in some oatmeal and dry toast."

"Pastor Jim's gruel isn't going to cut it, Dad." Caleb proved his point by swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He was glad to see he was wearing sweats that looked vaguely familiar, ones from John's old softball days and wool socks. It would make the assistance he was going to need from his father to actually make it to the bathroom then out to the great room easier on his ego. "I was thinking eggs and bacon sound about right."

RCJ

"You're elevating death warmed over to a whole new level, Damien."

"Yet, I still manage to be the best looking man in the room." Caleb was sweating and slightly out of breath before he and Mac made it back down the hall from the bathroom into the living room. He gritted his teeth and smirked at Dean, who was in one of the big leather chairs by the fire, his foot propped on a matching ottoman, Scout curled on the rug beside him. She wagged her tail, but didn't bother to lift her head when Mac waited for Caleb to take the seat by Dean.

"Considering I'm the only real competition, that's not a big prize." Dean gestured to the dark bruises and scratches marring his face. "Even with the battered and beaten look I've got going on, I give you a good run for your money. Right, Mac?"

"As Robert would wisely say, I have no horse in this race." Mac made his retreat towards the kitchen.

"That's dad's nice way of saying even on your best day; you're not in my league, Kiddo." Caleb took in Dean's wounds and wondered if there was a way to kill the Slayer nice and slow. His best friend was a full-fledged hunter; had been for some time now, but years nor experience took the edge off the rage Caleb still felt anytime the younger man was injured. Dean was pissy about the subject, sometimes misreading Caleb's concern as coddling so Caleb hid his murderous intentions behind a slow smile.

"Say's the guy who's as white as a sheet and dripping all over the floor."

"I'm good." Caleb ran a hand through his hair, knowing he looked about as good as he felt. "Nothing a little food won't cure."

Dean glanced towards the kitchen. Mac was hunched in the refrigerator, but the younger hunter still lowered his voice. "How are you really?"

"Mac says I just need to refuel." The doubtful look Dean gave him was made more potent by the kid's black eye. He wasn't just inquiring about Caleb's physical state. Sharing a room often turned a guy's nightmares into big pink elephants threatening to take up all the space if not put down quickly. Caleb and Dean had slain more than a few with a six packs and rare conversations that in the light of the morning were too deep for either to dare mention. Dean would know what connecting with the Slayer meant for Caleb, the vileness that would linger long after the encounter was over.

"You know what they say, Damien. A man looks too long into the darkness, the darkness is going to look right back."

"You hit your head in that fall too, Deuce?" Caleb didn't need to be reminded of certain dangers, of the line that once crossed was not so easily traversed in reverse.

"You shouldn't have taken off the mojo bag." Dean's green eyes darkened. "You heard Mac. It was a lame-ass move."

"Did you miss the part where we were pinned down, and in danger of being picked off one by one by that thing?"

"We could have come up with another plan. One that didn't involve sacrificing you to the abyss."

Caleb glanced over his shoulder, checking his father was still busy at the stove. "John already had a plan. On the field he calls the shots."

"Dad's plan sucked." Dean leaned over the side of the chair, wincing when he jostled his injured leg. "And don't make me call pot and kettle because we both know you have no problem balking Dad's orders if you think they are going to be dangerous for me or Sam. It's only when it's your head on the chopping block are you all 'yes, sir' and 'sure let me kiss your ass, sir'."

"Look, Deuce, daddy dearest may have fallen off the pedestal you used to keep him on for the time being, but I still have to answer to the man. I don't have the luxury of holding a grudge or holding his feet to the fire when there are lives in danger, especially if one of those lives is yours, Jim's." Caleb regretted the words and his tone the instant the hurt flashed in Dean's mossy gaze, but it didn't stop him from lashing out further, taking one more step onto that fragile limb that often stretched the distance between him being senior hunter, future Knight and Dean's best friend. "I made a call, one I'd make again if I was pressed to do so."

Dean relaxed against the chair. "Then I guess I don't even need to tell you how much _you_ suck."

Caleb smirked at the lame comeback, taking the less than venomous retort as an attempt at a white flag. Maybe Dean was taking it easy on him because he could somehow sense Caleb's head was about to explode. "Look, I appreciate that you're worried about me, that you have my back, but I've got it covered. I know what I'm doing."

"Forgive me if I don't take great comfort in your confidence seeing as how I was the one sitting ringside for the nightmare marathon last night, not to mention holding the barf bucket the few times you pulled yourself out of it."

"But now, I'm all good." Caleb tried for a grin he in no way felt. The last thing he wanted was to heap more guilt on Dean's plate, or feed his fears of losing yet another person he loved. "I promise, Deuce, after I get my strength back, a scalding shower and some steel wool should take care of the worst of it."

To Caleb's immense relief, Dean's mouth twitched. "You make letting that thing in your head sound like the aftermath of one of your typical dates, Damien."

Caleb snorted. "I guess I should take my own damn advice about breaching stranger's sectors." He knew he was once again on solid best friend footing when Dean laughed.

"Let's just hope you didn't catch anything that some penicillin won't fix."

Caleb let a rude hand motion close the line of conversation concerning his present state before he could mess up again and shifted his attention to more important matters. "Speaking of Mac's medicinal wonders, how's the knee?"

Dean's hand went to the leg in question. "It's still attached, though I think I tried to convince Mac to saw it off after the grueling walk back to the cabin."

"Deuce…" Caleb started only to have his friend cut off his pending apology.

"But Bobby generously spiked my coffee this morning with some Irish whiskey he had stashed away, which combined with Mac bringing out the big drugs has me feeling just fine, so don't kill my buzz with any of your 'I'm sorry you got hurt' bullshit. We both know I can still kick your ass, bad leg and all."

"I wouldn't dream of ruining the warm fuzzies you got going on. They've made you much more pleasant than usual." Caleb slumped against the chair, his energy waning now that his worry fueled adrenaline had abandoned him. "Maybe I should ask Bobby for a double."

"I think you should stick with Gatorade." Dean lifted a critical brow, an evil glint in his green eyes. "Or maybe even some of Dad's homemade field hydration."

"Don't threaten me with ORT, Deuce." Caleb placed a hand on his stomach as it churned at the idea of drinking John's Jarhead juice which was a nasty concoction of salt, sugar and water. It tasted like horse piss. "Speaking of G.I. John, where is he and why hasn't he been in to dress me down for letting the Slayer get past me? For that matter, where is everyone else?"

"Dad, Sullivan, Bobby and Buzz are taking advantage of the break in the weather and daylight to collect the bodies of Sullivan's team."

Caleb rubbed his thumb over the silver band on his hand. "No sign of the other missing man?"

"No." Dean shook his head "But I'm guessing that thing didn't show him any mercy."

"I've used a personal item to try and track him," Mac rejoined the conversation. He brought Caleb's plate and set it on the table between the two younger hunters. Scout perked up at the prospect of a treat, sitting at attention. "Nothing hopeful, but it could be that the wards and such are blocking any kind of reading I might pick up either way."

"Where's Pastor Jim?" Caleb went with the glass of water first, hoping it would stay put before he chanced the food.

"Mac put him down for a nap." Dean flashed Caleb a grin. "Though I have a feeling The Guardian will have his revenge on The Scholar when he recovers."

"You'll be pulling recon for months, Dad." Caleb looked at his father who dismissed the teasing with a roll of his eyes. "Or worse, working jobs with Bobby."

"It's not easy being the unofficial physician for this group, Son. One day you may find yourself in a similar position of having to overrule your Guardian for his own good."

"Maybe the next Guardian won't be as stubborn as Jim." Dean glanced at Caleb.

"Or knowing my luck he could be as mule headed as oh I don't know- you." Caleb met his best friend's gaze, wishing once again that he hadn't been sworn by a vow to the current Triad not to discuss Dean's role in the future. It didn't stop him from dropping hints whenever possible.

Mac cleared his throat, picking up the plate and pushing it towards Caleb. "You should eat."

It was Caleb's father's nice way of telling him to shut his mouth. He took the plate, only briefly meeting The Scholar's reprimanding glare. He knew the recent scare with his health would only give him so much leeway even with his father. "So, Jim's okay?"

"He insisted on going with me and Bobby when John called in your situation last night. The exertion, along with staying up with you and Dean last night, has not helped his condition, but he will recover." Mac waited for Caleb to look up, his tone pointed. "Sometimes others do know what's best."

Caleb's mouth was conveniently full so he merely nodded at his dad, quickly returning his focus to the meal that tasted much better now that he had more motivation to consume it. In fact, he'd finished his plate and had seconds, starting to feel more like himself before John and company returned.

The banging of the door startled him from a light doze, had Dean jolting awake from his own short nap in the chair. From the amount of snow that blew in, Caleb guessed the wind was more to blame for the noisy entrance than John's bull in the china shop mentality. It looked like the weather had taken another turn for the worse.

"Any luck?" Mac spoke up from the table. When Caleb turned he was surprised to see Jim had also emerged from his forced rest, and was now sitting across from his Scholar.

"No signs of the bastard." John stripped off his coat as Bobby, Gage and Buzz followed suit. Buzz and Bobby headed for the coffee.

"The snowfall was too heavy last night," Sullivan added as he made his way to the fire, tossing wet gloves and hat on the hearth. "It's picking backup as we speak. We had a hard time recovering my men."

Caleb glanced to Gage. He was moving slow. Caleb remembered he and Dean were not the only ones who had a close encounter with the Slayer. Jim moved forward. "I have something that belongs to you."

Caleb watched as The Guardian presented the rings Caleb had recovered. Mac must have found them in his jeans pocket. "You have my word that their sacrifice will not go unmerited. The enemy will pay for what he's cost The Brotherhood."

"Thank you for these." Gage took the rings, closing his hand over them.

"Thank Caleb." Jim turned to regard him and Dean. "He's the one who recovered them."

"Just as we'll recover Jackson." John moved around Jim, his gaze going from Dean to Caleb. "Right, Junior?"

Caleb wasn't sure what his mentor was asking him, assumed Jackson was the member of Sullivan's team still missing, but the intensity in John's stare had him sharing a quick look with Dean before he nodded. "Yes, sir."

"What are you thinking, Johnathan?" Mac asked, joining them in front of the fire.

"I'm thinking Caleb can track that thing now, weather be damned." John kept his eyes on Caleb. "We might still be able to pull off a rescue. What do you say, Kid?"

Caleb licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. John was correct to some degree. Once Caleb willed the kind of connection he forged with the Slayer it was not easily erased. "I can track it."

"Because you connecting with it worked so well the last time," Dean spoke up before Mac had the chance to disagree.

"I don't have to connect with it to track it." Caleb looked from his best friend to his father, knowing The Scholar was going to be just as opposed to the idea. "Now that I know what I'm looking for, what it is, I can find it without opening myself up to it."

"What exactly is it?" Bobby took a seat on the ottoman in front of Dean, a mug of coffee gripped firmly in his hands. "I mean I know it's a Slayer, but now that you've been in its head, what the hell did you make of it, Junior?"

"It's nothing like a zombie or any kind of reanimated corpse I've come across." Caleb realized he was in a rare position, though not one he imagined anyone would envy.

"Although it smells as bad," Dean added, with a slight smile. "It's probably decomposing as we speak."

"So you think the body is just a shell?" Buzz queried from where he paced near the fire.

"Maybe." Caleb wasn't sure of anything.

Mac took a seat and pulled it closer. "How did you connect with it if it didn't have mental functions?"

"I didn't say it was mindless. It was more like a displaced spirit, but not exactly."

"Was it demonic?" Caleb was not surprised John was the one to ask. Truthfully, he'd been avoiding that specific aspect.

"Yes, but it _wasn't_ a demon," Caleb said. "I know that doesn't make sense but…"

"It makes sense, my boy," Jim assured. "Demonic possession would have required a living vessel at the time of entry. It would have also rendered the creature vulnerable to the rules that govern such things, like salt, holy water and demon traps. From what little we know of a Slayer that does not hold true."

"It was quick like a demon and strong." Gage joined them. He pointed to Dean. "It tossed us around like we were light weights, and it took six bullets without blinking an eye."

"Instead of a reanimated corpse, it could be a physical embodiment of a spell," Mac suggested.

"Like a bone hound or golem."Buzz nodded.

Caleb had never seen either creature, but had read about them in journals. "But a golem is usually created for protection, right?"

"It is," Mac conceded. "A golem also follows its master's orders quite literally."

"I didn't get that impression. This thing whatever it was, was cognizant, it could think, react to what was taking place. I took it off guard, but it was like it learned from what I was doing and used it against me."

"That rules out a bone hound," Sullivan said. "They're at mercy to their owner's bidding."

"But it was a corpse, human," Dean reiterated. "Trust me. I saw flesh and bone."

"Damn, we may be working in unchartered territory here." John rubbed a hand over his face and Caleb wondered if his mentor had slept at all the night before. He looked more haggard and hard worn than usual.

"Dean," Mac turned to the younger hunter. "Did you happen to see any kind of totem, maybe a necklace or a ring?"

Dean nodded. "Now that you mention it, there was something gold around its neck, but I was a little too preoccupied to worry about its accessories."

"Mackland?" Jim asked.

"I'm thinking that perhaps a slayer is a summoned spirit, maybe a specific spirit conjured for some skill it held in its former life, then enhanced and gifted with spell work and bound to a convenient corporeal form with an object of power."

"A vengeful ghost doctored with magic and dosed with demon blood?" Caleb didn't like that idea, but it would explain the vibe he had gotten from the slayer. The fact it was walking around in a human body.

"Exactly." Mackland looked pleased Caleb had translated his Scholar speak. "An evil trifecta."

"Great." Bobby groaned. "Necromancy, dark crafting and demons. Don't that just curl your toes."

"It's not all bad news," Dean suggested. "If Mac's right, then the object of power could be the key to taking the thing out. Destroy the necklace, and the slayer loses its hold on this realm. You might even break the spell work."

"But it also means we have to get close to the bastard." Caleb didn't look forward to another encounter with the slayer. "I like the things we can shoot from a safe distance."

"We'll worry about killing it once we fix its location." John gestured to the map on the far wall. "I think those caves the ranger showed me and Buzz are worth exploring, especially if Junior tags along."

"What about not going into a situation with faulty intel?" Dean asked, glaring at his father. "Isn't Hunting 101 knowing how to kill something before you intentionally confront it? Yesterday was a rescue mission, it didn't give us time to prepare, but today's a different story."

Caleb wasn't the only one caught off guard by his friend's emboldened counter as both Mac and Bobby shot twin glances to The Knight, who surprisingly looked more bedraggled than angered by his son's questioning of his orders. "I still have a man out there, Ace. It's still a rescue mission. As The Knight my priority is to the hunters under my charge. Fuck Hunting 101. The number one rule in my book is to leave no man behind. If there's a chance Jackson is still breathing, I'm going after him."

"Your father's right, my boy." Jim stood with a deep sigh. "A rescue mission is our first priority." The Guardian turned to John. "But I do not want you to risk another confrontation if that's possible. And I want Mackland and Robert to accompany you and Buzz."

"No," John shook his head. "Mackland needs to stay here with you."

"It wasn't a suggestion." Jim held his ground. "Gage and Dean will stay here. Caleb will accompany you if he feels he is well enough. We'll work on researching possible ways to put an end to the creature once and for all."

John conceded to The Guardian, turning his gaze to his protégé. "Are you up for it, Junior?"

Caleb knew only one answer to the question was acceptable, only one was expected, at least by John. He didn't dare look at Dean, though he could feel the younger man's stare, knew what he was thinking even without reading him. "Let's do this."


	5. Chapter 5

Dragon Slayer

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Thanks so much for all the kind reviews. They always mean so much.

"_To me, the thing that is worse than death is betrayal. You see, I could conceive death, but I could not conceive betrayal." –Malcom X  
_ RCJ

John's hunch about the cave was right on. Caleb didn't even need his abilities to confirm they had found the Slayer's base camp. Dean was right about the thing's stench of death. They smelled it yards away, long before they reached the mouth of the caves.

"Mac, you and Bobby go left; Buzz, Junior and I will stick to the center. If that spelunking map was correct, it should cover the bigger tunnels."

"Perhaps I should go with you."

Caleb knew his father was thinking of him even as his eyes stayed locked on John. Despite Caleb's best efforts to shield and carry on as if this was any run of the mill gig, he hadn't quite been able to hide the fact he wasn't at his peak physically or mentally. The silent treatment he'd gotten from Dean before he left hadn't helped the bad feeling that maybe John's plan was somehow terribly flawed.

"Dividing the psychics is the best option, don't you think? It could confuse the Slayer if he's expecting us." John posed it as a question, but Caleb heard the underlying order. Caleb took note of the dynamic between Knight and Scholar, an unusual opportunity to be on a hunt with both his father and mentor. There was no clear rank between the two positions of The Triad, each holding equal weight, balancing buttresses for The Guardian. John and Mac were completely different in the way they viewed battle, the way they viewed life in general. Caleb figured the same would be true of him and Sam, but with Sam at Stanford, the comparison might be a moot point.

"I suppose the idea has merit." Mac looked from the cave to the whitening expanse of woods. His voice was quiet, but Caleb doubted silence would make much difference if the Slayer was close by. The journal Mac held in his right hand belonged to the missing member of Sullivan's team. "I don't sense Jackson. I'm getting the same read as before. How about you, Caleb?"

Caleb glanced at the cave, blocking out the feelings the smell of decay brought. "I've got an echo of the Slayer, but nothing strong, whether that's because of the mojo bag, or because the bastard isn't here, I'm not sure. But I'm pretty damn certain nothing living is in there."

"Then we'll consider it recon." John gestured with his gun. "Let's go."

They'd only been maneuvering the dark cavern for about ten minutes when Bobby made his way shoulder to shoulder with Caleb, not an easy feat considering their size, and the lack of space in the narrow tunnel. He kept his voice soft although John was several feet in front of them. "How you holding up, Kid?"

Caleb smirked, wondering if Mac had secretly appointed Bobby a babysitter. "I couldn't be better. Traversing wet, cold caves in the middle of winter with the threat of death looming always brings back such warm, fuzzy memories for me."

"Past trauma from Porter's evil plot and the wendigo aside, where's your head?"

Caleb bit his lip to keep from stating the obvious, knowing Bobby's query was not literal and came with good intentions. He was worried, not just about any repercussions Mac might have promised. "It's in the game."

"Good. Keep it there."

In Bobby speak that meant 'don't think about the demon connection, don't let the bastard psych you out'. Caleb grinned. "That the best pep talk you got, coach?"

"I could have pointed out that if you'd followed orders in the first place you would be on a beach tossing back beers and ogling bikini clad beauties with your best buddy about now."

"Point taken." Caleb lost his smile, kept moving. He'd even take a close proximity with the ocean over the current situation. Maybe when this was over he'd make it up to Dean with a week of recuperation in a sunny locale.

John's abrupt stop in front of them put a quick end to the conversation. They came up on his six, wary and weapons at the ready. The cause for his mentor's pause was evident as Caleb got a view over The Knight's shoulder. The tunnel split again into two massive caverns.

"Bobby." John nodded to the right, his hand signaling Singer to go. "Junior you're with me."

Caleb followed his mentor into the expanse, thankful for the night vision goggles as he scanned the area for any signs of movement. It was obviously The Slayer's lair. There were other signs of its presence as they moved deeper into the belly of the cave. Clothes were scattered about, books, a pack thrown to one side. Caleb stepped over the carcass of what might have been a deer as John moved to the personal items.

The Slayer wasn't home, but Caleb quickly discovered evidence he'd spent quite a bit of time here, if the intricate display of pictures and notes stuck to the rocky side of the cave was any indication. Detectives and criminal profilers used similar methods to track their prey, see their progress, fit the important pieces together. John used the same system.

Caleb slid his gun into his holster, running his finger over a crude snapshot of Pastor Jim, an article about his church in New Haven. The image didn't disturb Caleb as much as its position in the web. It lay on one of the branches from the center spiral. Even the red X over The Guardian's face didn't set Caleb's synapses on fire like the trail of other innocuous images that radiated alongside it. Ones of Bobby, several of Mac, even one of Dr. Elizabeth McCroy, a physician from New Haven.

"What the hell?" Caleb whispered, touching a picture of his own face as he followed the circle closer to the center. In the photograph he was leaving his brownstone in Greenwich, another of him prepping for a run in Central Park. There was a clipping from a write-up about the bridge he recently finished. As disturbing as it was to see images of himself plastered on the spider's web, to realize he'd been followed for days, maybe even weeks without his knowledge, it was terrifying to find the images of Sam and Dean.

Caleb's heart pounded as he took in Sam's smiling face. The photographs were from Stanford. Sam was with his roommate Peter, his girlfriend Jessica, and her friend, the brunette girl. The images of Sam by himself were the worst, ones of him reading outside the library, standing on a barren piece of coast, his back to the prying camera lens. Vulnerable. They were recent if the length of Sam's hair and the long sleeves he wore were any indication.

Fear stirred in Caleb's chest, choppy waves of distress becoming a pounding surf as Sam's pictures spiraled into ones of his older brother. Dean stepping out of the Impala, Dean exiting a motel room in upstate Ohio, a motel Caleb recognized as the one they'd been in only a week before. Dean standing in front of a vending machine, Caleb just yards away in the room they had shared during the Banshee gig, unaware of the danger that lurked just outside.

"Sonofabitch." All the pictures fanned out around one large center photo. A scowling photo of John Winchester. The Knight was dead center. It all became clear in the seconds it took for Caleb to scan the net. Jim Murphy was not the Slayer's target, never was, he was only a means to an end, a link to the real prey, a way to draw out the intended victim. The Slayer was after a Triad member, yes, but not Guardian, The Knight.

Realization struck along with the vision. Images that were masked in Caleb's nightmare from three nights ago materialized in painstaking clarity with a stab of searing pain. Flashes of white, black and red. He saw Dean tied to a tree, snow swirling all around, a blanket of stars spread above. Then blood. Melting the snow like thick cherry syrup poured on shaved ice. Dean's blood.

Another wave of agony struck, but this time it was not Caleb's. The fact it bounced off the psychic like an echo told him it wasn't his suffering, but the victim's, his best friend. The horror snapped him from the vision's hold, left him shaking on hands and knees heaving up the morning's massive breakfast.

"Caleb?"

John was at his side, gripping his shoulder as Caleb tried to push himself to standing.

"Oh, God."

"What it is, Kid? What's wrong?"

"It's you," Caleb choked, pulling out of his mentor's grasp, sidestepping the mess he'd made of his breakfast. "It was always you."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"This, damn it." Caleb pounded his fist against the wall, his hand planting on the center photo of John. The Knight swung his gaze to the net, taking in the evidence that they were dealing with not only a trained hunter, but one with a target they did not expect. Only John did not look as surprised as he should have, the truth was not settling in the way Caleb expected it to. As frightening as the first bombshell had been, Caleb was shaken with fury by this latest reveal. He lunged for John, gripping his mentor's jacket. "You sonofabitch! You fucking knew! You knew it was after you!"

"John!" Bobby's blustering entrance broke the standoff and John's silent confession. "We've got a big problem."

"You have no idea." Caleb pushed John away, turning to the other hunter. Dean was in danger. Caleb should have known it all along. He hadn't listened to the little voice, screaming inside him, instead he'd let it be drowned out by the much louder voice of the man he'd admired since he was a kid. "We have to get back to the cabin. Now."

"Not yet." Bobby gave a sharp shake of his head. "You need to see this first."

John didn't give Caleb any choice but to follow as he rushed after Bobby, who after his quick proclamation turned and headed back the way he'd come.

The body was alone in the smaller compartment of the cave which Bobby had cleared. They stood over it, a somber circle of three.

"That's not Jackson." John knelt, lifted the ski mask that was covering the face of the corpse. "The build is wrong, the clothes are off."

Caleb ran a hand through his hair, silently cursing their luck. John was right. The camouflage was similar, but the jacket wasn't cut like theirs, more Tractor Supply variety than the ones The Brotherhood stocked straight from militia reserves and military contacts.

"And this poor bastard has been dead for days." Bobby nudged the body with his boot. "Didn't Dean say the Slayer was dressed like us?"

"Junior?" John looked up at Caleb.

Caleb resisted the urge to tell The Knight exactly where he could stick the boyhood nickname, pointing to the small tears in the front of the coat. "I was in too much pain to get a good look at it, but I'm guessing those bullet holes in its chest are from the clip I emptied into it."

John tugged at the corpse's jacket, unzipping it halfway. "There's no gold amulet here."

"Damn." Bobby ran a hand over his mouth. "I have a pretty good guess what happened to Jackson. I found fresh blood, a lot of it, but no body."

"The Slayer didn't take him as a lure; he wanted information and a new meat suit." John stood. "If he kept Jackson alive, he'd have access to his thoughts, everything about us, not to mention the perfect disguise when he needed it."

"He's going after The Guardian," Bobby said.

"No." Caleb shook his head, the lead weight in his stomach allowing him to choke out his words. "The bastard's going after Dean, not Jim."

"What?" Bobby growled. "Why the hell would he do that?"

"Ask John." Caleb clenched his fists, glaring at his mentor as he spun to make it out of the cave. He only prayed they would make it back in time. As he ran he heard Bobby's pounding footfalls behind him, John's too. His mentor's voice rebounded off the cave walls as he shouted into the radio.

"Doc, rendezvous at the front of the caves. ASAP. Merlin's been compromised. I repeat, Mac, The Castle has been breached."

RcJ


	6. Chapter 6

Dragon Slayer

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Thank you so much for all the wonderful feedback. I am so sorry that this chapter has been longer in coming, as this time of year is very busy in career, my job on the side, and family. Thank you for your patience.

RcJ

Dean knew from experience that a watched clock did not perform as it should, instead of speeding up under close scrutiny; it actually gave the illusion of slowing down. He imagined the moon face on the mantle over the fireplace smiling in satisfaction as its age old ploy tormented him.

"You're only making it harder on yourself."

Dean glanced from the clock to Sullivan sitting across from him at the small kitchen table. He picked up his cup of coffee to keep from lifting his middle finger in a gesture of how much he appreciated the older hunter's advice. The scowl he managed over the lip didn't discourage Gage from continuing.

"They'll be back when they get back." Sullivan leaned forward, tapping the table. "Concentrating on that book in front of you, the job, that will make time go a whole hell of a lot faster than you ogling the hour hand."

"There's nothing in here about displaced spirits dosed with demon blood." Dean slammed the cover of the journal he'd been reading, rousing Scout who had been sleeping by the chair Jim had pulled over for Dean to prop his leg upon. He winced when the Black Lab banged into it as she stretched and made her way to him, butting her broad head against his leg until Dean put his coffee down to pet her.

"I didn't figure there was considering your father said he hadn't come across anything like it. That's his journal you've been staring at for the last half hour."

"So I'm not the only one keeping time." Dean ran a finger over the spine of his dad's journal. He had been reading about magical charms and binding spells, not specific creatures. Pastor Jim had taken the one and only computer, using an ancient modem that was not making his job of research any easier. The Guardian had assigned Dean and Sullivan to read the few books on hand, declaring they might discover something useful. Dean believed it more of a ruse on The Guardian's part to keep the two antsy, injured men occupied and out of his hair. Tensions were running high in the cabin. Even with space, it seemed cramped with the restless occupants.

"You forget I have someone out there, too."

"Right." Dean opened his father's journal, choosing to look at one of John Winchester's crude renderings of a ghoul than face the raw pain in Sullivan's blue gaze. Men had died, men Sullivan knew and cared about. "I'm sorry about your team. Mac said you were tight with them."

"Phelps and I came through the ranks together as kids, both our dads were hunters. Jackson was a recent addition, not a legacy, but he was a good man."

"There's still a chance..." Dean started, knowing that scenario was unlikely.

Sullivan sighed. "I'm not holding out hope he'll come back alive, but I'd like to have answers to give to his family if that time comes."

Dean raised a brow. "You're not much of an optimist, are you?"

"I'm a realist." Gage picked up the whiskey bottle Bobby had left on the table and dumped a generous measure into his coffee. "I have a feeling you and I have that in common."

"I expect my friends and family to come back breathing_._" Dean would not let his imagination conjure any other ending. He might not be some naive Pollyanna, but when it came to those he loved, Dean had steel-like faith. Dean refused to lose anyone else.

"I had similar expectations when I started this job." Gage grinned, showing a row of perfect white teeth and deep set dimples that lessened the effect of the weathered lines on his tanned face. "Sometimes we don't get what we hoped. I thought you were one who understood that considering where and _who_ you come from."

"You don't like my dad very much, do you?" Dean wasn't surprised. John Winchester was not likely to win any Mr. Congeniality awards.

"I wouldn't think twice about having him watch my back in battle. He's a hell of a hunter. Determined, driven; dedicated to destroying anything that crosses the line between good and evil."

"But you still don't like him." Dean sometimes wondered if even those closest to his father really liked him. He knew Jim, Mac and Bobby considered John Winchester family, loved him like a brother, but Dean had learned the hard way that sometimes family wasn't easy to stomach, and loving someone didn't make it any easier to accept it when they stepped all over you.

"I wouldn't go out of my way to share a beer with the sonofabitch if that's what you're asking, but your old man has served his country, been a good Knight, saved a shit load of innocent people along the way. Men fear him for good reason, respect him for the same, and that's more than what most men can say about their fathers."

Dean nodded, swallowing the lump at the back of his throat. He might not like his dad at the moment, but Sullivan was right, he had reasons to be grateful to the man, for the man. "So do you have a family? Out in California?"

"What makes you think I'm from California?" Gage propped his elbows on the table, leaned over the book of spells he'd been reading. "My golden boy good looks or surfer body?"

"Hardly, although the weird winter tan was a first clue, then there is your radio handle. Hollywood?" Dean had wanted to change the subject, but he was also curious. It wasn't often he got the chance to meet other hunters in their ranks, outside the small select group Dean encountered at Pastor Jim's and Bobby's. Plus, the idea of The Guardian's elite guard intrigued him.

"Actually I grew up in the Portland area, but my old man was a stuntman by day. I worked in the family business during college. You've probably watched a few summer blockbusters with our handiwork in them." Gage took a gulp of his coffee, wincing Dean guessed as much from the burn of the whiskey as the heat of the brew.

"Like the Fall Guy?" Dean's interest was piqued further. He loved the old television show from the eighties with Lee Majors.

"Wasn't that a little before your time?" Sullivan laughed. "What were you? Like two?"

"You haven't heard of reruns?" Dean had discovered early on that television was great company when your dad was gone at night and your little brother's bedtime coincided with the sun going down, especially if the show involved fast cars, hot girls and guns. The A-Team, Thomas Magnum and Michael Knight had been excellent babysitters when Caleb wasn't around.

Sullivan shook his head. "My dad used to swear Glen Larson based that show on him. He even tried to claim he'd penned the lyrics for that god-awful opening song."

"Your dad sounds like an interesting guy."

"He was, right up until the night a werewolf tore his heart out." Sullivan added a little more whiskey to his coffee.

"I'm sorry." Dean knew those words meant little when compared to such a drastic loss, but offered them anyway. He couldn't help but to glance at the clock again, wishing like hell that his father and friends would make their way back.

"Like I said things don't always go the way we planned."

"Is stunt work still your day job?" Dean knew most hunters held some type of employment, though his own father chose to devote most of his time to the pursuit of all things evil.

"Actually, these days I'm teaching." Gage lifted a brow. "I'm an adjunct professor."

"Teaching? You're kidding right." Dean tried to imagine Sullivan in a dress shirt and bowtie. It didn't mesh. The guy was more Point Break Patrick Swayze.

"What? I don't look like a college graduate to you?"

"Not really." Of course Caleb didn't really fit the profile either. Dean had done a double take the first time he'd seen his best friend in suit and tie, getting ready to address a potential board of investors.

"That's the amazing thing about being a hunter, a guy can pretend to be almost anything and get away with it. Acting skills come in handy. My BS in Business is actually legit. It doesn't hurt that I started law school before taking my dad's place in The Brotherhood."

"Law?" Dean felt a tingling along the back of his neck. "You teach law?"

"Intro to Business Law, Ethics and Human Rights. That sort of thing."

Dean imagined they were the kinds of things Sam might be interested in taking. "What college did you say you worked at?"

"I didn't." Gage glanced toward the living room where Jim was absorbed in his work at the lone desk in the far corner.

"Stanford, maybe?" It made sense. Buzz had said it. The Guardian's task force typically guarded the man's family, did his bidding. When Sam first left, Jim had made it a point to reassure Dean that just because he was miles away, he was not far from their fold. Dean had assumed it was one of the Pastor's metaphors, a way to say that God was watching over Dean's kid brother, but now it seemed The Guardian had made certain provisions of his own. Dean was quite sure if he had such resources at his disposal, he'd use them.

"A man would be lucky to score that kind of gig." It wasn't a direct answer, but it was far from a denial. Sullivan took another drink of his coffee, avoiding Dean's gaze. "Stanford's a fine school and Palo Alto is a beautiful place to live."

"So I've heard." Dean didn't quite know whether to be pissed on Sam's behalf or grateful. He wondered if Caleb had any idea Sam was being secretly watched over, doubted it because he knew for certain his best friend paid his own secret visits to Stanford, checked in on Sam from the shadows, just like Dean did.

Dean was spared thinking further on Jim's surprising covert operations by the banging on the front door. His heart leapt, the others had returned. Scout's low rumbling growl was the first indication Dean's hopeful reunion might not take place.

"Stay where you are." Sullivan stood, lifting his hand to Jim, who'd started to get up from his desk. He swept his eyes to Dean, conveying that the order had been meant for him as well.

Dean might not have been exactly mobile, but he was far from helpless. He grabbed the shotgun Caleb had propped near his chair on the way out, foregoing the crutches Mac had found in the supply room. He scooted to the end of the chair, giving Scout the stay command.

"Password." Sullivan called through the door, one hand on the lock, the other on his gun.

"DiMaggio," was the reply. Dean reckoned the password for Mackland's pick. The famous Yankees player would not have been one John Winchester would have chosen. More importantly, it was not that day's codeword, which had been from Jim-_Drear-Nighted December_, an appropriate Keats poem, he'd said.

"That's from several days ago," the pastor's voice had Dean meeting The Guardian's gaze. Scout let out a high-pitched whine.

"It sounds like Jackson." Sullivan tilted his head, as if listening for some sign his teammate might be on the other side of the door. "Kyle, is that you?"

"It's me, Gage. I need help." The voice was hard to hear over the howling wind, but Dean figured it must have been familiar enough if Sullivan's relieved face was any indication.

Never one to accept an easy, impromptu miracle Dean kept his gun ready as Sullivan undid the locks that would allow him to open the door. To the older hunter's credit he maintained his own weapon and kept himself between the entrance and the outside, snow blowing in around him. Dean could make out legs and a shoulder of the man on the other side.

"What the hell, Jackson?"

"I'm hurt, I need help."

Dean pushed himself to standing, his hand tightening on the shotgun as Gage lowered his own weapon, slid it into the holster at his back. Just as Gage was moving forward, Jackson's legs gave way.

"I need…" Jackson's eyes rolled back in his head and he started to collapse.

Dean gripped his gun, made a hobble forward as the hunter's body doubled over. Dean caught the flash of gold at his throat. "Sullivan, wait…"

It was too late. Dean didn't get the words out of his mouth before Gage was stepping across the threshold, hoping to catch his falling teammate. His boot breached the salt line as he did. Jackson recovered swiftly, grabbing Sullivan's outstretched hand, he whipped him around, pinning the older hunter against him. In one swift move he had Sullivan's gun in one hand, his other arm wrapped around the struggling hunter's neck. He moved into the room unimpeded once the protective barrier was broken, the door slamming shut behind him.

"Let him go." Jim moved forward. The Slayer pointed Sullivan's gun at the pastor. Dean cursed, raising his own weapon as The Guardian held his ground. "You will not harm any more of my men."

"There's only one man I'm interested in." The Slayer inclined his head to Jim. Dean got a better look at the suspect gold necklace when he did. It was a large oval locket, on a thick woven chain, gold braided with something that might have been hair. "My mission is very specific."

"Stay back, Jim…" Sullivan gasped out, struggling to get free as his face went from a fierce shade of red to a light purple, eyes bulging.

Scout lunged forward between Jim and The Slayer before Dean could grab her. She never reached The Slayer. Her lithe body lifted and tossed by an invisible force. She bounced against the wall with a yelp, landing stunned in a very still heap at its base.

"Sonofabitch!" Dean's finger tightened on the trigger.

"That's enough!" Jim growled, lifting his hand to The Slayer.

"I agree." The Slayer released Sullivan who was either unconscious or dead, shoving him towards Jim.

The Guardian managed to catch the other hunter, both of them going to the floor with the impact. Before Dean could get a shot off, the shotgun was wrenched from his grip, sent clattering across the floor to land well out of reach in the kitchen.

Dean launched himself at The Slayer with a loud shout, only to suffer Scout's fate. He was flung across the room, colliding against the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of him. Instead of dropping to the floor, Dean was pinned to the logs like an insect on a display board.

"Stop this!" Jim demanded, picking himself up to face off with the creature sent to kill him. "Let him go."

The Slayer moved towards The Guardian with a grin.

"Touch him and I will fucking rip you to pieces, you body snatching piece of shit." Dean roared, struggling against his impossible restraints. He could not watch Jim die. It would not happen like this. Dean prayed for a miracle, that his father and Mac would come. He sent out a silent cry to the universe, one he hoped to hell Caleb would pick up on despite the blocks in place.

"Leave my men out of this," Jim ordered, facing off with the creature. "It's me you want."

"If I wanted you, Pastor, I would have taken you out at the church." The Slayer gave a flick of his wrist and Jim went flying.

Dean winced as the pastor slammed into the bookcase, the heavy wooden shelves turning over, toppling on top of him after he landed prone in front of it.

"You sonofabitch!" Dean fought to get free when Jim didn't move, The Slayer stepping around the mess to move directly in front of Dean.

"I didn't kill him."

"Is that supposed to make me grateful?" Dean snarled. "It won't keep me from separating your head from your body and staking you to your grave I can promise you that."

"He isn't my target." The Slayer was unaffected by Dean's threats.

Dean was the one shaken by the unexpected answer. "Then why the hell are you here? Why attack him at the church?"

"I needed to draw out the prey." The Slayer put Sullivan's gun in the empty holster at his side. The action would have been second nature for Jackson, but Dean took note that The Slayer's movement was less animated, forced and a little jerky, almost like the zombies Dean had joked about earlier. The Slayer's quickness, strength and psychic ability had to be linked to the spell and if Mac were right, the locket around its neck. "A threat to The Guardian is a call no Knight can refuse, even one with his own personal crusade."

"Dad." Dean's gaze shifted back to The Slayer's face. He felt the twist in his gut, the punch of the truth stealing his breath as easily as slamming into the wall had done.

"He has something I want," the creature came closer to Dean.

All Dean's calculations of the enemy's possible weaknesses were abandoned in wake of the confession. "You used Jim to flush him out. You knew The Triad contingency plan. This was all a set up to draw him into the open."

"John Winchester is a very hard man to find when he decides to go off the radar."

No one knew that better than Dean. Anger surged through him, white hot and fueled by years of deep seeded fear. "If you want my father, you'll have to go through me."

"Funny." The Slayer grinned as he lifted a hand towards Dean. "I was thinking the exact same thing."

TBC


End file.
